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1 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN 


BY 

HANNAH LYNCH 

AUTHOR OF 

“TROUBLED WATERS,” ETC. 




NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 

\ V 1 • 





Copyright, 1892, 

BY 

UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 


[ A ll rights reserved .] 


TO DEMETRIOS BIKELAS. 


My Dear Friend, 

Of your kindly interpretation of the laughter here and 
there in this volume, purporting to be a picture of 
modern Greek life, I have no doubt. You at least 
know that I lack neither friendship nor sympathy with 
your race. We like not the less those whom we laugh 
at, provided our laughter is not meant to wound. For 
are not our own absurdities and weaknesses mirrored in 
those of others ? 

My more serious preoccupation is the accuracy of my 
judgment and observation.. For any errors on this 
ground I claim your indulgence. The foreign observer 
is proverbially impertinent and inaccurate, as we in Ire- 
land have sad reason to know. We do not lack our 
Abouts, though it may be doubted if we accept them in 
a spirit so generous as you do. 

In placing your name before my story, I may be said 
to hoist the colours of Greece, and under them dare sail 
my little bark of Greek passengers without any fear of 
coming to grief upon Hellenic shores, should I have the 
honour to penetrate so far. 


H. L. 



DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


CHAPTER I. 

AT THE AUSTRIAN EMBASSY. 

The Austrian embassy at Athens was more largely 
and more brilliantly attended than usual. At nine 
o'clock the Patissia Road showed a line of carriages 
going backward towards the Platea Omonia from the 
gaily-lighted embassy. All the foreign ministers were 
there, as well as the Prime Minister of Greece, and 
whatever distinguished travellers Athens had the hon- 
our of entertaining at that time, — it being winter, there 
was a goodly number. A Russian Prince or two, pre- 
sented by the Russian minister ; two eminent English 
politicians on their way to Constantinople for a confi- 
dential exchange of views with the Sublime Sultan, to 
be remembered by jewelled snuff-boxes or some such 
trifles ; a sprightly French mathematician straight from 
Paris the Blest ; a half-dozen of celebrated archaeolo- 
gists, furnished by Europe and the United States, all 
viewing each other with more or less malevolence and 
suspicion — the Frenchman noticeably not on speaking 
terms with his distinguished brother from Germany ; 
Dr. Jarovisky of world renown, fresh from Pergamos 


6 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


and recent discoveries at Argos, speaking various lan- 
guages as badly as possible ; a genial and witty Irish 
professor rushing through Greece with the intention of 
writing an exhaustive analysis of the country and the 
people, in that spirit of amiable impertinence so charac- 
teristic of hasty travellers. There was the flower of the 
so-called Greek aristocracy : Phanariote Princes, Grseco- 
Italian Counts from Zante and Corfu, and retired 
merchants and speculators from Constantinople and 
Smyrna and London. There was a Greek poet, hardly 
distinguishable in accent and manner from a Parisian, 
except in a detail of appearance which gave him the 
head of a convict, so hideously do the Hellenes shave 
their heads to look as if they wore mouse-coloured 
skull caps ; a prose translator of Shakespeare, who had 
lately visited the Immortal’s shrine at Warwick, and, 
in the interests of local colouring modelled himself 
since his return as closely as possible upon the accepted 
type of the English man of letters, and surveyed the 
frivolities under his eye with a British impassivity and 
glacial neutrality of gaze. All the musical dilettanti of 
the city of the Wise Maid were there, and all its pre- 
sentable women. Some of the girls were pretty, and 
all were thickly powdered and richly dressed ; all had 
large, brilliant dark eyes. And the gowns and frocks 
from Paris, the jewels, lace, aigrettes, flowers, and bare 
arms and shoulders made an effective and troublous 
contrast with the preponderance of n&asculine evening 
attire and semi-official splendour. 

This large and distinguished gathering had been 
convened in honour of the return to her native city of 
Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber, a celebrated pianiste, 

% 


DAUGHTERS OF MEW. y 

the rival and friend of Rubinstein, the pupil of Liszt 
and not greatly inferior to her master, who, at Vienna, 
had been publicly named by him Queen of Pianists to 
match his recognised kingliness. All Athens was on 
tiptoe of expectation, eager to hear her, and still more 
eager to see her. It is not known, but extravagantly 
conjectured, with what sum the Baroness von Hohen- 
fels was able to bid over the heads of her rival salonists 
and procure the honour of the Natzelhuber’s first appear- 
ance in Athens. Sane and discerning persons were 
probably right in putting it down to francs represented 
by four figures, for Austrian baronesses have a pretty 
accurate knowledge of the value of money. But for the 
moment six figures were supposed to represent the sum, 
and the matter was discussed with that singular absence 
of reserve or delicacy with which fashionable and well- 
bred society is apt to discuss the affairs of its host in 
the host’s own house. 

Through the confused mingling of languages French 
could be detected as the most universal. A fair, pale 
young man, with the grave questioning air of a stranger 
who is disagreeably conscious of being shy and ill at 
ease, and, above all, utterly and helplessly alone, was 
walking about the rooms, amazed and bewildered by 
this Babel of tongues and types, and seemed to entreat 
by his look* of gentle fear that no one should notice 
him or talk to him. He stared around with unquiet, 
troubled blue eyes., so very blue, so hopelessly, stupidly 
frank and clear, like a child’s, that they made more 
noticeable the extreme youthfulness of his face and 
most slender figure. A mere boy, twenty-one years of 
innocence and ignorance leaving him on the brink of 


s 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


manhood with only the potentialities of his sex faintly 
shadowed in the lightest gold stain above the soft upper 
lip. He had just stepped into the glare and turmoil of 
life from the protected shadow of an isolated old castle 
in Rapolden Kirchen, with no more reliable and scien- 
tific guide to the mysteries of existence than a tender 
and nervous mother, who, after bringing him up like 
a girl, had left him for another sphere, and no other 
knowledge of the passions and their complex sensations 
than that to be gathered in a close and fervent study of 
music. It is easy to picture him. A reserved lad of 
high-bred Austrian type, with a glacially pure face, and 
heart fluttering with girlish timidity, half-frightened and 
half-attracted by the world he interprets in the vague 
light of his own pathetic ignorance, just conscious of 
opening curiosities upon the eternal feminine, and ready 
to sink with shame the instant a strange woman looked 
at him. 

“Who is that charming boy?” asked a handsome 
old lady, whose motherly heart was touched by the 
childish uneasiness and loneliness of his attitude. 

“That fair-haired young fellow near the window?” 
her companion answered. “ Nice looking, isn’t he ? A 
very pretty young lady, eh ? ” 

“Don’t be so malicious. Men are always jealous of 
a handsome boy. You know how powerfully he appeals 
to our sympathetic sex. But who is he ? ” 

“Rudolph Ehrenstein— a nephew of Madame von 
Hohenfels. He has just lost his mother, and is travel- 
ling in search of distraction. Some of these young 
ladies will doubtless take compassion on him.” 

“Yes, with that pretty face and doleful forsaken 


DA UGHTERS OP MEN. 


9 


air he will not have to go far for a willing consoler. ” 

“It would be the very best thing for him,” said the 
popular poet, joining them. “One never knows how 
much to believe of gossip, especially in this centre of 
canards , but they speak of him already as the Natzel- 
huber’s latest flame.” . 

“Good heavens! Not possible, surely!” cried the 
old lady, in a tremor of delighted horror. “ He has 
the face of an angel.” 

“Angels have been known to fall, Madame,” said 
the poet, with his best Parisian bow and cynical shrug, 
throwing a challenging glance at his neighbour as if to 
defy him to prove that Theophile Gautier or Dumas 
could have capped an observation more neatly ; and 
then quoted with a beatific consciousness of his own 
smartness: “Lange n’est complet que lorsqu’ il est 
dechu.” 

“Talk of women’s tongues! You men have never 
a good word to say either of yourselves or of us.” 

“Is there not a proverb to that effect as regards the 
ladies ? ” 

“ Calumny, my friend, pure calumny. Men have 
had the monopoly of proverbs, and, of course, they 
have used them as they have used everything else, 
against us. It does not follow that even the clever 
man believes all the smart and satirical things he says of 
our sex, but an arrow shot at us looks a smarter achieve- 
ment than a juster arrow aimed at yourselves. And the 
smart thing goes down to a duller posterity, and there's 
your proverb. Truth is as likely to be in it as in the 
bottom of the proverbial well ! ” 

“I shall seek it henceforth in you, Madame. Can 


IO 


DA UGHTERS OF MEAT. 


you tell me if there is any truth in the announcement 
that the Natzelhuber is coming to-night? ” 

“ Madame von Hohenfels looks certainly anxious and 
doubtful. You know Mademoiselle Natzelhuber has an 
alarming reputation.” 

“ Oh, yes, abominably eccentric — and ugly,” sighed 
the poet. 

Rudolph Ehrenstein, modestly unconscious that the 
reliable voice of Public Opinion, glancing at his wings, 
had been pleased to pronounce them singed and soiled, 
had retreated into a deep recess and was nearly hidden 
by a silk curtain and tall palm branches. He sat down 
on a low chair, and rejoiced that here, at least, there 
were no bare obtrusive shoulders and brilliant orbs to 
dazzle him, no scented skirts to trouble him, and that 
the murmur of varied tongues and voices and the whirr 
of fans came to him in softened sound. He was just 
closing his eyes to think of the old dim castle of Rapol- 
den Kirchen and his beloved mother, whose subdued 
manner and tone seemed to him the more exquisite to 
remember because of the noisy and strongly perfumed 
women around him, when a man near the door caught 
sight of him through his gold-rimmed eyeglass, and 
starting forward, burst into his retreat with clamorous 
recognition and two extended hands, the offering of 
demonstrative friendship. 

“Delighted, charming boy, delighted to see you so 
soon again. Heard from the baroness you were expected 
in Athens, but no idea you would be here to-night.” 

“I arrived last evening,” said Ehrenstein, standing 
up and grasping the proffered hands with a look of 
relief, as if he found the necessary restorative in their 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


II 


touch. “What a quantity of strangers there are here ! 
All their different languages have made my head 
ache. ” 

His companion was a rich Greek merchant from 
Trieste, who was arrayed in extremely florid evening 
dress and wore a very large white camelia. He glanced 
at the boy’s mourning studs and sighed as if recalled 
suddenly to the stem sorrows of life, and then blew a 
little whiff which expressed the recognised evanescence 
of even sorrow and bereavement, and thrust their pres- 
ence from him. 

“ Well, you see, we Greeks have to draw very largely 
upon foreign countries for our entertainments,” he said, 
slipping his arm into Ehrenstein’s and dragging him 
gently out of the recess. “As a Greek from abroad, I 
regret to say that it would be impossible to mix with 
the pure Athenians for any purposes of social pleasure. 
They can neither talk, dance, nor eat like civilised be- 
ings. In fact, my dear Ehrenstein, they are not civil- 
ised.” 

“ What a dreadful thing to say of the descendants of 
the ancient Greeks,” laughed Rudolph. 

“Oh, the ancient Greeks ! ” exclaimed Agiropoulos, 
airily. “If you are going back to those old fossils, I 
will candidly admit that I am out of my depth. There 
is nothing I am more heartily sick of than the ancient 
Greek. There’s Jarovisky over there, a perfect lunatic 
on the subject. Homer for breakfast, Homer for din- 
ner, and Homer for supper admits of variety with im- 
provement. He reads Homer on the terrace by moon- 
light, and falls asleep with Homer under his pillow. 
My opinion of the ancient Greeks is, that they were not 


12 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


one whit better than their amiable representatives of 
to-day. They were men of great natural eloquence 
and literary gifts, and knew how to lay on their colours 
with an eye to future generations. But we have only 
their version, and it would require at least twenty con- 
necting evidences to prove the word of one Athenian. 
Why, to hear them talk to-day, one might imagine 
theirs the chief nation of Europe, and Athens its hand- 
somest capital — dull, ugly little Athens ! ” 

They were walking round the rooms, when Agiro- 
poulos, surveying the crowd through his aggressive 
eyeglass, suddenly asked his friend if he had been 
introduced to any ladies. 

“ I have been introduced to nobody yet except the 
Greek Minister — oh, I forgot, a young English attache. ” 

“Ah, I see the baroness is resolved to keep you 
hovering yearningly upon the skirts of paradise. Never 
mind, my child, I will find you a houri. There is a 
very handsome brunette, the prettiest girl in Athens. 
Her French is fit for the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and 
her dot acceptable should your views incline that way. 
My faith, I would not object to either myself, but my 
time has not come for settling down. Butterfly, you 
know, from sweet to sweet, and that sort of thing. 
Sad dog, as those droll English say. Ah ! — — ” 

Before Rudolph could demand an explanation of this 
singular and enigmatic avowal, understood by even 
such white innocence as his to hint at something darkly 
and yet pleasantly irregular, the Baroness von Hohenfels 
bore down upon the young nven with a disturbed ex- 
pression of face. She tapped Agiropoulos on the shoul- 
der with her fan, and said hurriedly 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


n 

"My dear M. Agiropoulos, I am greatly alarmed 
about the Natzelhuber. You, I believe, are the best 
authority on her movements and caprices. Do you 
know why she has not come ? ” 

I do not, indeed, Madame la Baronne, ” answered 
Agiropoulos, bowing, and twirling his moustache with 
a fatuous smile. “But it is not so very late.” 

“Don’t you know what very primitive hours we 
keep in Athens ? ” the baroness cried testily. ‘ ‘ Did you 
see her to-day, Rudolph ? ” 

Young Ehrenstein flushed and shrank a little with a 
hint of anxious pain in his blue eyes. 

“No, aunt, I called, but Mademoiselle Natzelhuber 
was not visible,” he said. 

Agiropoulos looked at him sharply with an imper- 
ceptible frown, and then, turning to his hostess, resumed 
his smile of fatuous security, and said : 

“To relieve your doubts, Madame la Baronne, I will 
drive at once to the lady’s house, and carry her back 
with me, if even I must employ force.” 

“ Do so, and you will earn my lasting gratitude. We 
are all dying to hear her play, and her name was the at- 
traction to-night,” and Madame von Hohenfels bright- 
ened. “ Come with me, Rudolph. I must find you 
some lively girl to chat you into good-humour. Delay 
as little as possible, M. Agiropoulos.” 

Agiropoulos bowed low and retired, while Rudolph 
silently offered his arm to his aunt, shrinking still and 
wounded. 

“It is a great disappointment that M. Reineke is not 
here to-night. He, also, is a new lion — singularly hand- 
some and captivating and very clever, they say. He 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


14 

created quite a sensation in Paris last winter. But he 
got ill coming from Egypt and I suppose he will make 
his first appearance at the Jaroviskys' ball next week.” 

“Is there to be a ball next week ? ” Rudolph asked 
listlessly. 

“Of course; are we not all vying to honour an 
English Cabinet minister? He will probably write 
about us when he gets home.” 

“Who are those girls laughing so loudly?” Rudolph 
asked, with no particular desire for information. 

“They belong to the American legation. Not ex- 
actly the choice I would have you make in girls' society, 
my dear, — intolerably loud and vulgar,” said the Bar- 
oness, surveying them through her long-handled and 
elegant face-a-main which she raised to her eyes. 
“ They represent the United States — most deplorably. 

I want you to cultivate the society of the Mowbray 
Thomases — English Embassy. Here is the son, Vin- 
cent, a very nice boy who can speak intelligible French 
for a wonder, and will, I am sure, be glad to teach you 
tennis and cricket.” 

“He is quite a boy,” cried Rudolph, cheerfully. “I 
shall be less afraid of him than of your lively young 
ladies.” 

Agiropoulos had in the meantime driven to Academy 
Street, where Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber was 
staying. He found the house in complete darkness, 
and only when he had made a considerable noise 
did a somnolent and astonished servant thrust her head 
out of a window and demand his business. 

“Where is your mistress, Polyxena?” cried Agiro- 
poulos. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN . 


*5 

In bed, sir. ” 

“In the name of all that is wonderful, has Photini 
gone clean out of her senses? In bed, and all Athens 
waiting for her at the Austrian Embassy ! ” 

Polyxena leisurely unbolted the door, and Agiropoulos 
rushed past her up the stairs, and hammered frantically 
outside Photini’s bedroom door. 

“Photini, get up and dress this instant. I insist. 
I swear I will not leave off knocking until you come 
out — not even at the risk of driving all the neighbours 
mad ! ” he shouted. 

“What the devil do you want at this time of night, 
Agiropoulos? ” was roared back to him. “I will box 
that girl’s ears for letting you in. Stop that row. You 
must be drunk.” 

“Come, no nonsense, Photini. I am serious, on my 
soul I am. You’ve been expected at the Austrian Em- 
bassy for the last hour and a half. It is just eleven, and 
Athenian receptions break up at midnight, you know.” 

“I suppose they want me to play. I had forgotten 
all about it. The mischief take the idiots ! For good- 
ness’ sake stop that noise, and I’ll get up.” 

It was a little after eleven when a murmur ran through 
the rooms on the Patissia Road that Agiropoulos had 
returned with the missing Pleiad. Every one pressed 
eagerly forward to see the great and eccentric artist. 
Corns were gratuitously trodden upon and the proprietors 
forgot to swear, dresses were crushed, and no lady re- 
membered to cover a cross expression with a mendacious 
smile and a feeble “ It does not matter ; ” all faces wore 
an expression of open anxiety, curiosity, and wonder. 


i6 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


“Quite a bear, I hear," somebody whispered, audibly, 
“bites and snarls even. Dresses abominably, and 
swears like a trooper." 

Mademoiselle Natzelhuber entered the room a little 
in advance of Agiropoulos, whose smile was one of 
radiant self-approval and triumph, — he quite enjoyed 
this open recognition of his menage irregulier. Photini 
wore a look of hardly concealed contempt and indiffer- 
ence, and advanced slowly, meeting the multitudinous 
gaze of curiosity with a regal calmness. Her dress 
was dowdy and common : she was stout and low-sized, 
but she succeeded in carrying off these details with truly 
majestic grace. It was impossible to titter or sneer ; 
despite all shocks of disappointment, it was impossible 
not to meet gravely that grave indifferent glance, and 
recognise a strange kind of superiority in its lambent 
topaz imperturbability. All eyes were fixed upon her 
but two boyish blue eyes that, after one swift and in- 
quiring look, were averted in a poignant confusion of 
emotions. Instead, they rested on Agiropoulos. 

Madame von Hohenfels moved towards the artist with 
a gracious smile of welcome, and expressed her pleasure 
in very cordial terms, — she could afford to be exuber- 
ant now that she was relieved of the terror of this 
woman’s possible defection. 

“This, I believe, is your first appearance in Athens 
after a long absence, Mademoiselle Natzelhuber." 

“Where is your piano, Madame ? You did not invite 
me for the sake of my handsome face, I suppose. Then 
pass compliments and come to business." 

“Qu’elle est grossifcre,” was the comment that ran 
round the room, and the English Cabinet Minister, the 


DA UGHTERS OF ATEN. 


17 


Right Honourable Samuel Warren, gazed at her through 
his eyeglass, and lisped, “What a very extraordinary 
creature ! ” One does not mix in the highest diplomatic 
circles for nothing, and the Baroness von Hohenfels 
was perfectly competent to extricate herself and her 
guests from an awkward situation with both grace and 
glory. She laughed musically, as if something specially 
witty had been said, and led the way to the grand piano. 
The seat was a high one, and Photini tranquilly kicked 
it down, and gazed around her in search of a low stool. 
Agiropoulos rushed forward with a chair of the required 
height, and the artist sat down amid universal silence 
and touched the keys lightly, upon which her nose 
might conveniently have played, so near were both. 
After a few searching bars she burst into Liszt’s splendid 
orchestral arrangement of “Don Giovanni.” 

Agiropoulos cared nothing whatever about her music, 
and wandered round the room till he reached the place 
where Ehrenstein was standing. 

“That was a delicate mission, eh. Ehrenstein?” he 
said, with his persistent smile. “Successfully accom- 
plished too.” 

“Its success is as apparent as its delicacy,” retorted 
Rudolph. He was filled with astonishment at the wave 
of bitterness towards this oily self-satisfied Greek that 
swelled within him. 

Agiropoulos caught the unmistakable ironical tone. 

“ Might I request you to define your precise meaning, 
my young friend? ” he asked, drily. 

“ That is easily done. You have acted to-night as 
no gentleman should.” 

All girlish timidity had faded out of Rudolph’s eyes, 

2 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


•i 8 

which flashed like gem fire in the sparkle of honest 
indignation. 

“ Ho ! is that where we are ? ” cried the Greek, with 
a low exasperating laugh, as he twisted his mous- 
tache and examined the gloss of his shoes. “And the 
crime ? ” 

“ In permitting my aunt to speak to you in a distinctly 
offensive way of Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and in 
smiling as you did when you entered the room with 
her. ” 

“My dear fellow, what a simpleton you are to talk 
in this superannuated style about the Natzelhuber/’ 

“ Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is a woman. An honour- 
able gentleman makes no distinction between women 
as regards certain laws. The same courtesy and con- 
sideration are due to all.” 

“ Don’t tilt against windmills in this extravagant way, 
Ehrenstein,” said Agiropoulos, laughing good-humor- 
edly. “ Why, Photini would be the first to laugh at us 
for a pair of imbeciles if she heard that we quarrelled 
about her.' She does not want consideration. She is 
rather a fine fellow in a rough and manly way of her 
own — very rough, I admit.” 

“ Pray, make no mistake about me. I object to such 
vulgar classification as you are disposed to make,” 
cried Rudolph, sharply. 

“ I’ll be as wide and as refined as you like — platonic, 
artistic, spiritual — whichever suits you best. But we 
may not doubt the admiration, my friend.” 

“To prevent gross misinterpretation, I will give you 
the situation. I hold myself willingly and proudly 
enslaved to such genius as hers. I would gladly sit in 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, 


*9 

silence all my life if my ear might be filled with music 
such as hers. For the sake of that, I am ready to offer 
my friendship, and forget the rest.” 

Rudolph stood back a little with a listening rapt 
expression, and Agiropoulos glanced contemptuously 
down at Photini. Agiropoulos was constitutionally in- 
capable of understanding disinterested admiration. Plis 
sentiments were coarse and definite, and to him were 
unknown the conditions of strife, probation, unrewarded 
and unexacting love, self-distrust and tremulous aspira- 
tion and fear ; above all, was he free from a young man’s 
humble reverence of womanhood, which, in the ab- 
stract, was to him something so greatly inferior to him- 
self as to be below consideration. Cheerful it must be 
to escape the hesitations and exquisitely painful flutter- 
ings between doubt and hope, and the thousand and 
one causes of clouded bliss, to the more fastidious and 
ideal Northern nature. He looked forward to a suit- 
able marriage when his relations with Photini should 
come to an end, but was not concerned with the ques- 
tion of choice. Girls are plentiful enough, and hand- 
some or ugly, they come to the same thing in the long 
run : mothers of children of whose looks their husbands 
are unconscious. 

In response to the loud applause which greeted her 
last chord, Mademoiselle Natzelhuber rose slowly, bent 
her head as low as her knees, the mossy black curls 
rolling over her forehead like a veil, and her hands 
hanging straight down beside her. No one present had 
ever seen a lady bow in this masculine fashion, and 
following the breathless magnificence of her playing it 
so awed her spectators that some moments of dead 


20 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


silence passed before they were able to break into their 
many-tongued speech. 

“ Let me have some cognac, if you please/’ she said, 
curtly, turning to her delighted hostess. 

What will not the mistress of a salon endure if she 
may furnish her guests with a thoroughly new sensa- 
tion ! And certainly Mademoiselle was a very novel 
sensation. 

The cognac was promptly administered to the artist, 
and the people began to move about and express their 
opinions. 

“That girl is tremendously admired here,” said 
Agiropoulos to Rudolph, drawing his attention to a 
noticeable group of young ladies. “Her name is Made- 
moiselle Emeraude Veritassi. She was not christened 
Emeraude, I may mention, but we are so very Parisian 
at Athens that we insist on translating everything, even 
our own names, into French. The girl beside her is 
Miss Mary Perpignani, and her brother Mr. John Per- 
pignani, though neither of them knows a word of 
English. It is chic with us. I am Tonton. I can’t 
exactly say what language it maybe, but it isn’t Greek, 
and that you see is the main thing. My sister Per- 
sephone calls herself Proserpine.” 

“ What bad taste ! Persephone is surely a beautiful 
name.” 

“Ah, but it is Greek — not fashionable, not chic. And 
if we have no chic , my friend, we have no raison d'etre. 1 * 

“Who is that going to play now ?” asked Rudolph. 

“Good heavens ! it’s Melpomene — and after the Nat- 
zelhuber ! ” 

No wonder there was much admiration expressed at 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


21 


ihe nerve of the lady who bravely undertook to play 
such a masterpiece as Chopins “ Barcarolle ” in the 
presence of a master not given to handle offenders 
gently. But everyone was disposed ^to receive the 
amiable imperfection of an amateur with indulgence, 
while it was impossible to conjecture the feelings of the 
short-haired woman who was quietly sipping her second 
glass of cognac on an ottoman and listening with a 
fixed neutral stare in her yellow eyes. When the piece 
was over, the artist rose, and said with awful measured 
politeness : 

“ Does Madame imagine that she has played Chopin’s 
4 Barcarolle ? ’ Doubtless Madame has mistaken the 
name. I will play the ‘Barcarolle’ now.” 

It is easy to understand the feelings with which 
Madame retired, and the feelings aroused in the breast of 
Madame's irate husband, who glared vengeance from 
the other end of the room ; and for one moment every 
one recognised that a star is not the most agreeable 
ornament of society, but this idea was soon swept 
away upon magic sound. Could there be anything 
dreamed of on earth like the beauty of the “Barcarolle ” 
so played ? Enthusiasm reached the white-heat of pas- 
sion. Ladies tore the flowers from their bosoms, men 
from their button-holes and flung them at her ; faces 
went white and red, and eyes filled with tears. And 
there stood Agiropoulos smiling blandly and taking half 
the triumph as his own, while Rudolph had gone back 
to his recess and was sobbing unrestrainedly in sheer 
ecstasy. 

When the first wave of emotion had subsided, and the 
artist had bowed her acknowledgment in the same 


22 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


curious way, too contemptuous even to shake the flowers 
off her person, her host stepped forward to offer her his 
arm and lead her towards the buffet in another room. 
Somebody else stepped forward with gracious intent, a 
young self-sufficient viscount, the nephew of the dis- 
tinguished French minister. He bowed low, and ac- 
quainted her with the agreeable fact that he had never 
heard anything like her playing of the “Barcarolle," 
and his regret that Chopin himself could not hear it. 
Mademoiselle looked at him meditatively for some try- 
ing seconds, then said calmly : 

“ Do you really believe, sir, that I require your ap- 
proval? Be so good, sir, as to confine your observations 
on music to your equals. ” 

“Truly a remarkable and slightly disconcerting per- 
son," said the English Cabinet Minister, arranging his 
eyeglass the better to observe her. “Extraordinary, 
egad ! I suppose artists are bound to be erratic. But 
don’t you think they could play just as well with hair 
like everybody else, and decent manners?" 

His companion was of opinion they could, and sug- 
gested that the artist in question would create a lively 
sensation in a London drawing-room. 

“By Jove, yes. Suppose we strike a bargain with 
her, and carry her back with us. We might label her — 
* authentic specimen of a Greek barbarian, picked up 
near the Acropolis ; dangerous." 

All the guests now struggled forward in search of 
refreshments. But Rudolph strolled about waiting for 
an opportunity to see Photini alone. His gratitude and 
admiration were at that exalted pitch when an outpour- 
ing is imperative. He knew nothing of the vile report 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


23 

that had been circulated concerning his own relations 
with her, and sought her with the damning candour of 
complete innocence. He found her, and the dis- 
covery sent a shock of horror through him that almost 
stopped the beating of his heart. She was in the centre 
of a noisy laughing group of men, smoking a cigarette 
and holding an empty liqueur glass in her hand into 
which the Baron von Hohenfels was pouring some 
brandy, laughing boisterously and joking hideously. 
Every nerve within him thrilled in an agony of shame. 
This the glorious interpreter of heavenly sound ! This 
the artist he so passionately desired to reverence as a 
woman, while worshipping her genius ! He was half 
prompted to go away in silence, when his eyes caught 
the sarcastic triumph of Agiropoulos’ smile. With a 
mighty effort he gulped down the bitterness of dis- 
appointment and shocked surprise, and bravely went 
forward. 

“I have been looking for you, Mademoiselle," he 
said coldly. “I wanted so much to thank you for the 
delight you have given me to-night — this addition to 
past delight," he added, holding out his hand. 

“Ah ! my little Austrian page ! " Photini cried, laugh- 
ing into his solemn grieved face. “I got your card to- 
day. You must come and see me again. The ‘ Mel- 
odies Hongroises ’ you know. Tve promised you that. 
A pretty fellow is your nephew, Baron, and quite as 
charming as he is pretty. But too grave, too grave, 
and too — sans reproche ," she added cynically. 

All the men looked at Rudolph curiously, and laughed. 
The boy flushed scarlet, bowed and walked away. 
The rooms were rapidly thinning, and recognising him 


24. DA UGHTERS OF MEN, 

as a member of the Hohenfels family, several guests 
stopped to shake hands with him as they passed him. 
He received their advances mechanically, hardly heard 
a word addressed to him, and was still in a dream 
when his aunt and her husband returned to join him in 
tne empty chambers. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


25 


CHAPTER II. 

THE BARON VON HOHENFELS EXPRESSES AN OPINION. 

That night Rudolph did not go to bed. He spent 
some hours walking up and down his room in a ner- 
vous agitation he could by no means account for. It 
seemed to him that he had been dropped into a dis- 
agreeably topsy-turvy world, and the thought made 
him wretched and unhappy : dissatisfied and perplexed 
by his own state, fierce in a vague kind of resentment 
against Agiropoulos, and filled with an immeasurable 
grief for Photini. With such soul in her fingers she 
appeared to him through an ugly cloud like a battered 
and draggled angel, and he sat disconsolately gazing at 
the blue and golden flames from the beautiful star-fire 
above, and asked himself how had it happened, and 
was there for her henceforth no struggling back into 
the paths of sweet womanhood from which she had 
strangely and openly strayed? 

Yet why should he grieve so passionately for Pho- 
tini ? No affair of his if she courted slander and irrev- 
erent familiarity ; nor yet if she indulged in inadmis- 
sible tastes in public, and wounded and insulted all 
who came near her. His own birth and its responsi- 
bilities surely excluded him from such preoccupations, 
and his natural fastidiousness made relations, however 
slight and flexible, with a woman like Photini impos- 


26 DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 

sible. This he knew well, and despite the knowledge 
felt miserably sad and unquiet. He wanted so much 
that she should not degrade his high ideal of the artist 
who has received nature’s patent of nobility, and a 
lonely impressionable boy like Rudolph could not 
afford to stand by tamely and watch the dethroning of 
his idol. For Photini had been his idol long before 
they had met. Her name had been borne into his re- 
treat from many quarters, and no one had hinted to 
him her unlovableness— her disreputableness. Liszt 
had only spoken to him of her genius with enthusiasm. 
Had his small circle deliberately conspired to keep him 
in ignorance of this cruel reality, while he was wander- 
ing and losing himself in a forest of delicate and poetic 
illusions P — building hope upon hope of an unanalysa- 
ble nature until his whole happiness grew to bind itself 
round the thought of this unknown woman crowned by 
art with a glory greater than her womanhood ? Pho- 
tini Natzelhuber! His mother had often told him of 
the time she first came to Vienna, a slip of a girl, with a 
curly boyish head and the strangest topaz eyes. Mossy 
dark hair and topaz eyes with divine fingers — what 
more did it require to set aflame a dreamy imaginative 
lad ? And when strangers visited the Castle at Rapol- 
den Kirchen and spoke of her, he never seemed to un- 
derstand that years had flown and left her less girlish, 
but pictured her like Art, like a goddess ever young, 
And when he read of knightly reverence and allegiance, 
he told himself that one day he should go abroad and 
seek Photini. He dreamed of no conditions or reward, 
not of marriage or of love in the ordinary sense. To 
wear her colours, serve her in true devotion, honour 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


27 

her above all women, and humbly sue the privilege to 
obey her commands and caprices with some consider- 
able recreative pauses for music — this was Rudolph’s 
innocent dream. Remember he was brought up by a 
high-bred mother, all grace and gentle benignity, a 
woman who wore her widowhood like a sovereign lady 
to whom man’s homage was a sweet claim. And her 
pretty and impracticable theories but helped to feed the 
fires of a fatally romantic temperament, while his com- 
plete and unboylike isolation left him an easy prey to 
the riotous play of fancy. Then is it any wonder that 
reality at the outset should both crush and bewilder 
him ? 

He opened the window, and leant far out with his 
head against his hand, that the cold night air might 
blow upon him. Through the confusion of his mind 
he could gather no dim or possible conclusion upon 
which to shape immediate action. He dreaded meet- 
ing Photini again, for he felt he could never forgive her 
for the havoc she had made of all his bright hopes. 
Then softly through the silence of the night waved in 
echoing dimness the lovely strains of the *' Barcarolle/' 
with its ever recurrent note of passionate melancholy, 
its very voluptousness of exquisite pain and the musical 
rythm of the oars breaking through the water murmur. 
The memoried sounds flushed his cheek with trembling 
delight, and he rushed to his violin and tried to pick 
out the dominant melody. But who could ever hope 
to play it as she did ? And, happily, he became mind- 
ful of the possible objections of others to this faint 
■nocturnal music, and generously put up his instrument. 

‘‘Ah ! " he sighed, “if Photini be hardly a woman, 


28 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


what an artist, good heavens ! ” Must much not be 
forgiven undeniable genius ? And was all the ideal 
love irrevocably vanished? If only he could know. 
For this uncertainty disturbed him and made him un- 
happy, and unhappiness is not exactly the condition 
that enables a young man to see clearly into his own 
mind or into anybody else’s. He would try to sleep, 
and then this tempest of emotion and harassing conflict 
would blow over and leave his eyes clearer to see what 
he ought to do and leave undone. 

But Rudolph did not sleep, and a sleepless night, we 
know, works disastrously upon the nerves and looks. 
When he appeared downstairs his uncle glanced up 
casually from his papers, and, stirring his chocolate, 
said in surprise : 

“Why, whatever is the matter with you, Rudolph? 
This is too absurd. A girl wouldn’t look so battered 
after a first ball.” 

“Well, I am battered, I suppose. I’ve passed a bad 
night and I am not used to it,” said Rudolph listlessly. 

“A bad night ! a fellow of your age ! Is it possible ? 
Fact is, my dear boy, your mother has ruined you. 
Nothing worse than to pamper and coddle up lads as if 
they were girls. Your mother had no business to keep 
you immured in that ghostly old place with no hardier 
society than her own.” 

“I wish she were there still and I with her,” said 
poor Rudolph, with a little break in his voice and a 
faint clouding of his blue eyes. 

“Of course, of course,” hastily cried the volatile 
baron, whom all evidence of emotion struck chill. 
“The wish does you and her credit. But all the same, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


29 


it is not exactly fit training for a boy. Makes him 
whimsical and sensitive and shy — a lively prey for all 
adventurers male and female, especially female. Fact 
is, it is most enervating and absurd. You ought to 
have seen something of society long ago, Rudolph ; 
you ought indeed. Men and manners — you know your 
classics ? ” 

“That is just my difficulty. Men and manners — 
to find them disappointing and strange. My brief 
glimpse of them has both sickened and saddened 
me/’ 

“Nonsense! You must face life like a man; not 
dream it away like a puny sentimental girl. You want 
backbone and nerve, Rudolph, you do indeed. Men are 
not saints nor women angels. Well, what of that ? 
They are not expected to be so until they get into the 
next world, which time, as far as I am concerned, I 
trust will be postponed to the furthest limits. Then the 
ladies find their wings and the men get canonised, that 
is, if they haven’t taken snuff. I believe a very esti- 
mable saint was once refused canonisation because he 
took snuff; can’t swear to it, however. For the rest, 
my boy, adopt the aphorism of the wise German, who 
was good enough to discover that everything is arranged 
for the best in this best of all possible worlds.” 

“You can take things lightly, uncle, but I cannot.” 

“Of course not,” rejoined the baron, lighting a cigar. 
“Whoever heard of a young man taking anything 
lightly except his debts ? ” 

“I do not ask that men should be saints nor women 
angels. ” 

“It is considerate of you to be so unexacting. Pass 


DAUGHTERS OF MEET, 


30 

the saintship of your own sex, young men have the 
extremely awkward habit of quarrelling with women as 
soon as they discover they are not angels/' 

“But I do seek for evidences of gentlemanly feeling, 
for decent manners and chivalrous speech," Rudolph 
went on, ignoring the Baron’s interruptions. 

“Now you are hardly so unexacting. This strikes 
me as demanding something more than sanctity, for it 
is quite possible that a saint may be an ill-mannered 
cad," said the baron gravely. 

“I hope, sir, that you will not be offended with me 
if I express a wish to return to Austria, " said Rudolph, 
after a pause, nervously devoted to industrious crum- 
bling. 

“Indeed, Rudolph," cried the baron, facing him with 
a disconcerting steadiness' of gaze, “I am very seri- 
ously offended to hear you express such a wish. Your 
aunt and I have cherished the hope that you would find 
your stay with us pleasant enough to make your visit a 
prolonged one. What has upset you ? If there is any- 
thing we can do to make you comfortable, I beg you 
will state your wishes and count them fulfilled." 

“Nothing, nothing indeed, I assure you. You and 
my dear aunt are kindness itself, and I am most truly 
grateful. But I am not happy, uncle. Do not blame 
me if I seem capricious. " 

“Seem ! Well, and are you not ? " 

“I cannot help it if I am perplexed and grieved. 
I think I should feel less troubled in Rapolden Kirchen, 
that is all," Rudolph slowly explained, bending his 
head with apparent anxiety over the little heap of 
crumbs he was making with his knife. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


3 * 

His uncle watching him narrowly saw the sensitive 
lips tremble under the soft moustache. 

“Come, unveil the mystery, Rudolph,” he said with 
a quiet smile. “Who is the woman? For, Gad, it 
looks deucedly like a first prick of love. Nothing else 
smarts so keenly at your age.” 

Rudolph shrank visibly from the coarse frank glance 
of worldly eyes directed upon a wound so intangible, 
so especially delicate, and yet open to misconstruction. 
To grieve about a woman argues the existence of the 
commoner sentiment, and he loathed the thought of 
his fine instinct being so misinterpreted. But could a 
bland and heavy ambassador, who smokes the best 
cigars and lounges on the softest cushions in irreproach- 
able attire, skilful in gastronomy and a connoisseur in 
feminine points, be possibly expected to seize and right- 
ly interpret the daintier emotions and pangs of a more 
exquisite and spiritual organism ? 

“There is nothing of that matter in my trouble, but 
I believe I am unfitted for society. I don’t like it ; 
much that others, possibly wiser and better than I, 
hardly note offends me.” 

“You find the charming illusions nurtured in the se- 
clusion of Rapolden Kirchen rudely dispelled,” suggest- 
ed the baron, looking what he felt, a trifle bored by the 
lad’s heavy earnestness, but admirably sustained by the 
comfort of good tobacco. ‘ ‘ That happens to every one, 
though I have no doubt it would afford you immeasur- 
able satisfaction to look upon your case as exceptional. 
All this is quite correct, since it is so, and if this very in- 
teresting and pleasant world realised the fastidious 
ideal of youth, my dear fellow, it would not be a fit 


3 - 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


place for any sensible man to live in. Be reasonable, 
Rudolph. Give poor society another chance before 
you decide to abandon it to inevitable perdition. There 
will be plenty of balls presently. Stay and see if you 
cannot reconcile your flighty imagination to a waltz or 
two with some pretty Athenians. You may not credit 
it, but there are two very pretty girls here. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


33 


CHAPTER III. 

FAREWELL TO YOU ! — TO YOU GOOD CHEER ! 

Given a young man of average resolution in force 
against an acknowledged and violently self-disapproved 
inclination, seated in a pleasant morning-room, with 
clear broad rays of December sunshine, as it knows 
how to shine in winter in Greece, pouring in through 
the lattice-work of the windows, every leaf in the garden 
singing and proclaiming that out-of-doors there is glad- - 
ness of sight as well as gladness of sound, to soothe the 
mind of restless and melancholy youth. It will go hard 
with that young man to resist the temptation to get up, 
shake out the draggled plumes of thought, and canter 
away into the country — or why own an uncle who has a 
horse or two to be had for the asking ? One cannot lock 
oneself away in a dismal chamber merely as a cor- 
rection against one’s own irregular impulses. Besides, 
was not his resolution there to act as constable, and 
move them on if unruly subjects showed any tendency 
to loiter on the way ? So Rudolph made himself look 
very spruce in a dark green riding coat he had bought 
in Vienna, and much more suited to the forest depths of 
Rapolden Kirchen than the high-road of a modern town, 
put on a pair of brown gauntlet gloves, also scenting 
too suspiciously of the forest, with long black boots, 
and he only wanted a forester’s plumed hat to com- 

3 


DAUGHTERS OR MEM 


3 * 

plete the picture. But he looked exceedingly handsome, 
and as, abroad, all eccentricities of costume are credited 
to the English, he was taken as a fair young milord as he 
cantered briskly along the Partissia Road. Somebody 
met him and remarked afterwards to the Baron von 
Hohenfels that “ he had had the pleasure of seeing his 
nephew on horseback got up like Gessler without the 
hat.” 

On the youth rode, quite pleased with his green coat 
and his fine boots, flicking away an occasional fly 
from the ear of his bay with a dainty riding whip, and 
inhaling delightedly the soft odours of the winter land- 
scape. He would have liked to whistle or sing. 

“ Decidedly, Athens is a charming place/’ he thought 
to himself. “All my life till now I have been frozen 
at this time of the year, and here the sun is shining, the 
birds are singing, the sea is smiling out there its very 
bluest smile, and it would be impossible to paint the 
lovely colours of the landscape. Hills everywhere, 
with a long silver plain — the plain of Attica ! I wonder 
where this road leads to? Somewhere out into the 
country, but it does not matter. I’ll ride to the end of 
it, and then I’ll ride back. ” 

It was an enchanting ride. He saw a little beer 
garden, and stopped to see if the beer of Athens were 
as refreshing as its air. Well, no ; he thought on the 
whole that he had tasted better beer in Vienna, but the 
place was quaint, and, who know’s? perhaps a centre 
of classic memories. He would look into Baedeker on 
his return. Certainly the waiters left much to be 
desired in manner, in attendance, and in personal ap- 
pearance. Then he thought of riding back, paid his 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


35 

score, leaving what would have been considered a 
satisfactory tip for any one but a proverbially prodigal 
milord, — that article, with a proper respect for itself, 
not being thought guilty of a knowledge of coppers, — 
mounted his horse, and turned its head towards Athens. 

His pace this time was not so brisk, nor did his face 
or the atmosphere seem quite so happy. A vague con- 
sciousness of what was awaiting him was slowly begin- 
ning to make itself felt through the recent satisfaction 
of moral superiority, and that consciousness weighted 
his horse’s step, as it weighted his own boy’s heart. 
And yet it was fate that was guiding him, and not his 
own will. Of course not. When does the will ever 
guide the unwilling, and where would any of us be in 
moments of complicated decision, if it were not for 
that convenient scapegoat and disentangler — Fate ? 

The museums afforded an excuse for putting off the 
evil moment, and a lad was found to hold the bay 
while Rudolph went inside to examine the curiosities. 
He did all that was to be done ; stood gravely before 
Greek vase after Greek vase, each one the exact coun- 
terpart of the other, and while running the silver handle 
of his riding-whip along his lips, told himself that it 
was really curious that so many intelligent people 
should be found ready to go into ecstasies over this 
sort of thing, and prefer to look at a cracked red vase 
with mad figures on it, to a living pretty face, or a 
pine-fringed mountain, or the rain-clouds scattered 
across the blue heavens. And then he gazed at the 
coins ; gazed at broken statues, and at whatever wearied 
and polite attendants were willing to show him. 

“Well, I am not archaeological, that is certain,” he 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


3 6 

thought, mounting his bay with an open alacrity that 
might be described as a silent “ Hurrah ! ” and flew — 
not to the Austrian Embassy, but to Academy Street. 

When he asked Polyxena in his blandest tones if her 
mistress was visible, that gracious minister unto art 
nodded, and pointed with her thumb over her shoulder : 

“Go up there, you will find her about/’ 

“The Natzelhuber has picked up a perfect counter- 
part of herself,” Agiropoulous had remarked, which 
struck Rudolph as unpleasantly accurate. 

When Rudolph, after a timid knock, opened the 
door, he found the pianiste lying on a worn black sofa, 
smoking a cigarette and reading a French novel, with 
three cats about her, one comfortably seated at her 
head, and one across her feet. On the hearthrug there 
were two dogs feigning to be asleep, in order the more 
conveniently to pry into the affairs of man, and ridi- 
cule together the secrets they had discerned between 
two blinks and a snap at a fly. The room was poorly 
furnished and disorderly. A piano which had seen bat- 
tle and better days, a faded carpet ; music on the floor, 
music on tables, music on chairs. Over the mantel- 
piece a large portrait of Liszt, under it Rubinstein, above 
Beethoven, and on either side Chopin and George 
Sand. 

In this little group of portraits consisted the sole deco- 
ration of the bare white walls, and a table in a corner held 
all that its owner had amassed of precious things in her 
public career : her medals gained at the Conservatoire, 
the few gifts of gold-studded objects she had conde- 
cended in her most amenable moods to accept from 
grand dukes and duchesses, and other courtly and 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


37 

wealthy admirers. She looked at Ehrenstein without 
getting up, and said : 

“What do you want?” 

“Nothing,” he retorted, sitting down uninvited, and 
staring at her a moment in cold inquiry. 

She was not handsome, nay, she was ugly, and he 
was glad of it, being still of the innocent belief that the 
face is the clear index of the soul, and that a fair exter- 
ior cannot possibly cover a foul interior. Then, too, 
the fact that she was unprepossessing made the course 
he was contemplating so much the easier, since, how- 
ever sincerely he might regret the artist, he could not 
in conscience pretend it possible that he should regret 
her face. 

“You are doing well, my young friend,” laughed 
the Natzelhuber, “ excellently well, ’pon my soul. Not 
so long ago a convent girl could not beat you in humil- 
ity, and to-day you’ve cheek enough to lend even Agiro- 
poulos a little.” 

“Oh ! ” said Rudolph, lifting his eyebrows, and then 
changing his tone, suddenly, “ but I did not mean to 
be rude.” 

“ Then what the devil do you mean ? ” the artist cried, 
lighting another cigarette, with almost maternal precau- 
tions against disturbing her cats. “Is that the way to 
come into a woman’s room, making yourself at home 
without being asked, and impertinently saying you 
want nothing? ” 

“If it comes to that, I might ask, is it habitual for 
morning callers to be received by their hostess lying on 
a sofa, nursing three cats, smoking, and to be asked 
what they wanted ? " 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


38 * 

“ A very reasonable attitude if it suits me, and a very 
reasonable question. But since you are so susceptible 
and cantankerous, I’ll do you the grace to change both 
to suit you,” she said good-humoredly, removing her 
cats and placing them back on the sofa when she 
stood up ; then seating herself in an arm-chair, she 
added : 

“Now, what have you come for?” 

“To see you,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. 

“ Much obliged, I am sure. Well, look away, 
and in the meantime I’ll finish this chapter of my 
book.” 

The method of being severe and renunciatory, with a 
suitable Byronic fold of the lip and stern compression 
of the brows — a kind of “ fare thee well, and if forever” 
expression — with a woman like this ! Fancy such a re- 
ception at twenty-one — when a young man is oldest, 
gravest, intensest, and slightly melodramatic — from the 
object of shattered dreams, the creature of agitated 
and complex feelings, and the cause of poignant humili- 
ation and vexed wonder! Yet the Natzelhuber was 
unconsciously working most effectually for the boy’s 
good, and every stab was a definite step on the road 
to recovery, and to a full lifting of the veil of his own 
signal folly. 

“ What makes you look so unhappy, Ehrenstein?” 
she asked, after a considerable pause. * ‘ Have you been 
playing ? ” 

“ No, mademoiselle. I did not know that I looked 
unhappy,” Rudolph answered, colouring slightly. 

“ You do then. But there is no need to ask why you 
are unhappy. You wear your nature in your face, and 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


39 

that proves to me that you will never be happy — any 
more than my unlucky self. ” 

“Why?” 

“ Because you are too refined and too fastidious, and 
too everything else that goes to the making of a first- 
class irrational humbug. A man who wishes to make 
the best of life should be able to take a little of its mud 
comfortably, whereas you are ready even to turn up 
your aristocratic nose at a little elegant dust.” 

‘ ‘ And you, mademoiselle ? Why are you not happy ? 
— for I cannot regard dust or mud as the impediment 
here,” said Rudolph sarcastically. 

“Oh, for just the contrary reason. Iam too gamine! 
It comes to the same thing, child. We are both mad, 
though reaching the condition by diametrically opposed 
roads. My life is ending, and it is too late now to 
change had I even the desire, — but yours is beginning. 
Get rid of all tha.t superfluous refinement, and tell your- 
self that there are things more real and more absolutely 
necessary than sugar and ice-cream. ” 

“What you say is very true, and I will remember it. 
But have you no words of equal wisdom for your own 
case — although they say that doctors are always better 
able to treat cholera in an alien body than a fit of indi- 
gestion in themselves.” 

“ I could say much, but I could not be sure of find- 
ing an attentive audience in myself. You see I ajn a 
poor devil. Not so long ago I had the musical world 
at my feet — only two names above me, and the second 
Rubinstein, not so far away. Like this we were 
crowned,” she explained, making a dot on the cover of 
her book, and calling it Liszt, with a second lower down. 


40 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


on the right hand side, which represented Rubinstein, and 
the last, on the left, hardly more than a thought below 
th% second — “there! the Natzelhuber. And turn from 
my fame to reality. An ugly old woman without a sou, 
alone, friendless, ill, the only companions of my soli- 
tude these cats and dogs, and that,” she added, pointing 
to a bottle of brandy. 

“Is that not a very bad companion in solitude ? '* 
asked Rudolph, pained. 

“Not so very bad when it keeps you from cutting 
your throat in a morbid moment.” 

“Mademoiselle, command me — command all your 
true friends, for surely it is impossible that genius such 
as yours has gathered no honest friendship along its path, 
as well as empty honours. Whatever my shortcomings 
may be in the way of entertaining, I will prove a better 
counsellor than your present one,” he urged, forgetting 
all about himself in his anxiety to save her from the 
approach of certain degradation. 

She looked at him sharply, and then a curious softened 
light came into the yellow eyes, making them once again 
beautiful and fascinating with their old charm. She 
placed her two powerful little hands on his shoulders, 
and seemed to gaze down into his very soul. 

“ My dear boy, I believe you are sincere. You are as 
good as you look, and that is saying much. A tired old 
woman thanks you with all her heart, but it is too late. 
Some demon fixed himself in that old woman’s head 
when she was bom, and never could manage to find 
its way out ever since.” 

Rudolph was on the point of protesting, when the 
door opened, and a woman in black, followed by a 


DAUGHTERS OF ME IV. 


41 

young girl entered. The Natzelhuber wheeled round 
brusquely, and demanded : 

‘ ‘ Who are you, madame ? and what brings you here, 
pray ? ” 

The woman, who was stout and hot, stared anxiously, 
gasped, clutched in vain at her scattered ideas, and mur- 
mured something relative to the great honour the illus- 
trious Mademoiselle Natzelhuber had done her in con- 
senting to teach her daughter Andromache, the inter- 
view having been arranged for to-day. 

“ All very well. But that does not explain how you 
came to enter my room unannounced, ” cried the 
pianiste. 

“ Your servant sent us up, madame/' 

“ Polyxena ! " roared the Natzelhuber, holding the 
door open. 

Rudolph, ready to sink with shame at the unpleasant- 
ness of his position, and eager to beat a hasty retreat, 
happened to look at the girl who was staring from the 
stormy musician to him with large dark blue eyes, dark 
fringed, and full of beseeching anxiety and fright. She 
was a very pretty girl of somewhat exotic type : olive 
tints, blue-black hair, with a thin, sedately arranged row 
of curls upon the forehead. A face of meagre intelli- 
gence, without a shade of those subtle and tremulous 
surprises, that delicate eloquence of opening sensibili- 
ties and wonder, that make up so much of girlish beauty 
in northern races. But Andromache was very touching 
in that moment of perplexity and humiliation, and hav- 
ing looked at her once, Rudolph felt constrained to look 
again — which he did willingly enough, though he 
blushed scarlet at his own audacity. 


42 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“Polyxena, who the devil gave you leave to send me 
strangers when I am engaged ? ” 

“How was I to know you were engaged ? Haven’t 
I my work to do without looking after your danglers ? 
Do you think I’m going to walk up here every time 
your bell rings to find out what I am to say ? Ah, then, 
and upon my word, you’d have first to go into treaty 
with my Maker to fashion me another pair of legs,” 
retorted Polyxena, turning on her heel. 

“That is the way she always answers me,” said the 
Natzelhuber, smiling. ‘‘But I am fond of servants. 
They are the only part of humanity that has retained a 
bit of originality or naturalness. When she is in a good 
humour that girl delights me with the extraordinary 
things she says,” she remarked to Rudolph. “So, ma- 
dame, this is the young woman you want me to turn into 
an artiste,” she exclaimed, menacingly, standing before 
the trembling Andromache with her hands joined behind 
her. 

After a long scrutiny, she thrust up her chin, and mut- 
tered : 

“ Pouf ! she doesn’t look very bright.” 

“ Everybody says she is very clever, mademoiselle,” 
the girl’s mother ventured to plead humbly, “ and she 
plays really well.” 

“Who is ‘everybody’? half a dozen brutes of Athen- 
ians who couldn’t tell you the difference between C 
major and F sharp. If you have come here to cite me 
the opinion of that distinguished and discriminating 
critic, Everybody, madame, instead of waiting to hear 
mine, you and your daughter may go about your busi- 
ness, and see what your Everybody will do for you.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


43 

Rudolph made a movement towards the door, hop- 
ing to escape unnoticed, but the Natzelhuber, having 
had enough of her last visitors, detained him with an invi- 
tation to smoke a cigarette, and drink a glass of brandy. 

“Wouldn’t you like me to play you something?” 

“Not to-day, thanks. Another time. It’s just break- 
fast time,” he said hurriedly. 

She turned her back on him without another word, 
and opening the piano, pointed to Andromache to sit 
down before it. The girl’s hands shook as she removed 
her gloves, and Rudolph, going downstairs, could hear 
how unsteady and timid were the first notes that she 
played. 

“Weber’s ‘Invitation a la Danse.’ She will surely 
fly into another rage when she hears that,” he thought. 
“ But I do wish she would be kind and encouraging to 
the poor girl. Such pretty eyes as she has ! I have 
never seen prettier. Just like the March violets in Rap- 
oldenkirchen that I used to gather for my mother.” 

In the meantime the frightened owner of these eyes 
like the March violets of Rapoldenkirchen was passing 
through the worst moment of her existence. Two bars 
of the “ Invitation ” served to bring down the wrath of 
artistic majesty on her head, and very nearly on her 
hands. 

“What do you call that?” 

“Weber’s ‘ Invitation,’ ” died away in the girl’s throat. 

“ Weber’s * Rubbish,’ you idiot ! It is as little like the 
‘Invitation’ as the music of my cats is like the ‘Fu- 
neral March.’ But you have a good touch. Something 
may be made of you when you have learnt your scales, 
and know how to sit before a piano. Seat low, thumb 


44 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


covered, body tranquil. Are you prepared to regard 
yourself as a beginner, with less knowledge than a stam- 
mering infant — or do you still cherish the opinion ot 
‘ Everybody ’ that you are very clever ? ” 

“I know very well that I am quite ignorant, and it 
is because I want to learn that I have come to you,” 
Andromache said, with a simple dignity that mollified 
the artist. 

*' Well, I see you are not a fool like your respectable 
mother,” she said. “ Now go home and practice as 
many scales as you can for three or four or even more 
hours a day, and come to me at the end of a week. 
Hard work and slow results, remember.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


45 


CHAPTER IV. 

AN ATHENIAN HOUSEHOLD. 

Among the many curious customs of the modern 
Athenians — at least those unprovided with permanent 
tents — is their habit of changing residence every first 
of September. When they go into each new house, 
they have at last found their earthly paradise, which 
they at once begin to maltreat in every possible way, 
until; by summer-time there is hardly a clean spot left 
on any of the walls, a door left with a handle, a cup- 
board with a lock, or a window with a* fastening entire 
in its panes. Then the earthly paradise, is described 
in terms as exaggeratedly expressive of the reverse of 
comfort ; the family look around for the next Septem- 
ber move, and a new home or flat is found with the same 
fate awaiting it. The only rational way of accounting 
for this startling custom, which would greatly disturb 
any reasonable person compelled to follow it, is by 
supposing that the natives find something exciting and 
morally or mentally beneficial in their annual migra- 
tions. 

In compliance with the law, Andromache’s mother, 
the previous September, had moved from a flat on the 
second floor in Solon Stettore, a ground floor flat with 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


46 

plenty of underground accommodation, in one of the 
many yet unnamed streets that break from the foot of 
Lycabettus like concentric rays to drop into the straight 
line of Solon Street, and proceed on a wider and recog- 
nised course down among the larger thoroughfares. 
These baby passages are rarely traversed by any but 
those who enjoy the qualified happiness of living in 
them. There is always a river of flowing water edging 
their entrance like a barrier, which a lady with dainty 
boots would doubtless view with disapprobation if she 
were asked to ford it upon an afternoon call. Children 
by the hundred play about these streets — variously 
coloured children, ragged, ugly, showing every condi- 
tion but that of cleanliness and beauty, with little 
twisted mouths and sharp black eyes that always seem 
to be measuring in the spectator a possible foe ; with 
coarse matted hair, or shaven heads looking like noth- 
ing more than the skin of a mouse worn as a skull cap, 
or dirty straw, bleached nearly white, hanging about 
them in unapproachable wisps and understood to be 
fair hair. As well as the householders, the infants, and 
running water, the streets offer, as further attraction, the 
cries of the itinerant merchants, who draw their carts 
up the dusty, unpaved little hills, and yell out the con- 
tents of their store in a way only to be heard in burn- 
ing cities, where yelling, public and domestic, becomes 
an art, cultivated with zeal, and heard with joy — by all 
but the nervous traveller. All day long these vendors 
come and go, and the aforementioned happy house- 
holders need only appear on their thresholds to buy 
stuffs, soap, candles, sponges, carpets, etc. 

In the sweet spot Kyria Karapolos had pitched her 


DA UGHTERS OF ME FT. 


47 


tent with her family, consisting of two sons, the eldest 
a dashing captain of the Artillery, known in town as 
Captain Miltiades, understood to have no relations, and 
to sleep on horseback, dine on gallantry and the recital 
of his own prowess, and enjoy relaxation from equine 
exercise in the ball-room. The second son, Themis- 
tocles, a dapper little fellow, had a position in the 
Corinthian Bank, not very remunerative, but enabling 
him to dress with what he considered Parisian taste, and 
walk Stadion Street with two or three other fashion- 
able youths, all equally gloved, caned — and killing. He 
had a violin too, and disliking his family, when con- 
strained to remain at home, spent the time in his own 
room, which looked out upon the sloping gardens of 
the French School, and tortured the silence by irritating 
this poor instrument, deluded into a fond belief that 
he was playing Gounod's “ Ave Maria" and Schubert’s 
“Serenade." 

He cherished a hopeless passion for a young lady in 
the next street who had no fortune ; neither had he, 
nor, what is worse in an aspiring husband, any pros- 
pect of making one. 

A girl came next, Julia, of abnormal plainness of fea- 
ture, considerably heightened by a pimpled, sallow 
complexion and a furtive, untrustworthy expression. 
Unlike the rest of her family, she had no special quali- 
fication, but while the others enjoyed every kind of 
discomfort, her fortune was pleasantly counted into the 
Corinthian Bank, to be taken out the day a husband 
should present himself for her and for it, especially for 
it. In this land of dowered maidens yoqng gentle- 
men of expensive tastes and empty purses find it feas- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


48 

ible and honourable to incur debts on the understand- 
ing that they will be paid out of somebody’s dowry 
by and by. Personal looks or qualities are secondary 
questions, so the absence of attractions in Julia did not 
weigh in the eyes of her brother and mother in their 
anxiety to marry her. 

The youngest was Andromache, as pretty as Julia 
was plain, resembling her brother, the redoubtable 
Captain Miltiades ; a sweet girl, too, if suggestive of the 
unvarying sweetness which is another word for feeble- 
ness of character — fond of music, and showing some 
ability in that direction, never taking part in the family 
quarrels which were always raging at the table and 
elsewhere between the rest. But she had the tastes of 
the woman of warm latitudes. In the house she was 
rarely fit to be seen, — and she had a passion for powder, 
unguents and strong perfumes. She was a tolerably 
efficient housekeeper, and generally spent her mornings 
in the kitchen, superintending and helping Maria, the 
maid of all work, who had enough in all conscience to 
do to keep Captain Miltiades in clean shirts. 

Captain Miltiades was not only the hero of his 
domestic circle, but the hero of all Greece — or so he 
believed, which comes to the same thing ; the boldest 
soldier, the mightiest captain, the best horseman and 
dancer, and, crown in romantic imaginations, the most 
impecunious ornament of Athenian society. His fierce 
and military moustache and bronzed cheek awed 
beholders, and his noble brow merging into a bald 
crown gently fringed with short black hair, which made 
a thin line above his black military coat and crimson 
velvet collar, seemed to hold the concentrated 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


49 

wisdom of ages. But gallant and youthful was the 
spirit of Captain Miltiades — amatory, too, as behoves a 
son of Mars. “One may be bald and not old for that,” 
said his flashing dark-blue eye whenever a maiden’s 
thoughtful glance rested on the discrowned region. 
His French left much to be desired, and of other Euro- 
pean languages he knew nothing. But then scientific 
was his knowledge of the gay cotillon, entrancing his 
movement in the waltz and mazurka ; at least the young 
ladies of Athens thought so. However, be it known to 
all who care to learn noteworthy facts, Captain Miltiades 
was an authority on these important subjects ; a kind 
of dancing Master of Ceremonies at the Palace, where 
he danced with royal partners and was amazingly in 
demand. But, sad to relate, nobody dreamed of falling 
in love with him, in spite of his military prowess and 
carpet-pirouetting. The ladies regarded him as a kind 
of amiable harlequin, and his presence and warm 
declarations only excited a smile on the lips of the 
weakest. Of course he sighed and dangled after every 
dot , but sighed in vain, for neither his fierce moustache 
nor his dark blue eyes have brought him somebody’s 
one figure and countless noughts of francs. 

It was twelve o’clock, and Captain Miltiades might 
be heard galloping up the unpaved street, looking as if 
nbthing short of a miracle could bring horse or rider to 
stop before they reached the overhanging point of 
Lycabettus. The miracle was accomplished without 
flinging the gallant Captain headforemost into the dust 
or into the nearest flowing stream, and the Captain’s 
military servant, Theodore, emerged from the side 
entrance to carry off the panting war-horse, and refresh 

4 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


50 

its foaming flanks with the stable brush, while the war- 
rior, with stern brow and dissatisfied lips under the nod- 
ding red plumes of his cap — this modern Achilles always 
appeared in a white heat of suppressed anger in the 
domestic circle — rapped at the glass door which Julia 
opened. 

“ Where is Maria? ” asked Captain Miltiades. 

“In the kitchen, of course, cooking the breakfast.” 

“ Maria ! Maria 1 " 

“Yes, sir,” cried the unfortunate servant, rushing 
from the steaming pilaf she was preparing, and show- 
ing a spacious bosom hardly restrained within the 
compass of the strained and long since colourless cloth 
that untidily covered it, and a ragged skirt, and fuzzy 
black hair that she found as much difficulty in keeping 
out of the soup as out of her own coal-black eyes — only 
far greater effort was made to accomplish the latter 
feat. 

“Maria, the balls are commencing, and I shall be 
going out regularly; you must have two clean shirts for 
me every day. Do you hear? ” 

“And how on earth do you think, Captain, I am to 
get through my work ? Two shirts a day indeed ! And 
the same for Mr. Themistocles, I suppose. Four bed- 
rooms to see to, cooking, washing for five persons : 
and one poor girl to do it all for twenty-five francs a 
month. You may look for another servant.” 

“Get away, or I’ll wring your ear, Maria. You 
have Theodore to help you in the kitchen, and you 
know that both my mother and Andromache help you 
in the housework. ” 

“Wonderful, indeed ! It only wants every one in the 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, 


51 


house to sit down and do nothing, and the young ladies 
to ask me to starch them two white petticoats apiece 
every day. Ah, animals, pigs, the whole of you," she 
added as she retired to the kitchen, and the gallant 
Captain to his chamber. 

Another masculine entrance, and this time the thin 
piping voice of little Themistocles was heard, calling 
on the unhappy maid of all work. 

“What does this fool want now? ” roared the infu- 
riated Maria, appearing in the corridor with a large 
spoon which she brandished menacingly. 

“I am going out this evening, Maria, and I want a 
second clean shirt," said Themistocles, thrusting his 
head out of his room. 

“A second clean shirt ! Oh, of course. What else ? 
Don’t you think, sir, you might find something more 
for me to do ? I have so very little to do that it would 
really be a kindness to keep an idle girl in work. Clean 
shirts for Miltiades, clean shirts for Themistocles. 
’Pon my word, it is poor Maria herself who wants 
clean shirts — and she has not even time to wash her 
face ! ” 

“Really, it is absurd the trouble you men give in a 
house," cried Julia over her embroidery in the hall. 
“You seem to think there are no limits to what a ser- 
vant is to be asked to do. ” 

“Hold your tongue. Julia, and speak more respect- 
fully of your brothers," retorted little Themistocles. 

“What do you mean by quarrelling with your sister, 
you whipper-snapper?" cried Miltiades, combing his 
moustache, as he came out of his room to join in the 
fray. “ Another impertinent word to Julia, and it 


52 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


would not take much to make me kick you out into 
the street.” 

One word from the head of the house, as Captain 
Miltiades was called, full twenty years his senior, was 
enough to silence Themistocles, who retired into his 
room, and proceeded to make a careful study of the 
libretto of “La Princesse des Canaries.” 

The third tap that morning at the glass door of the 
street, announcing the return of Andromache and her 
mother, was the cheerful herald of breakfast. Every- 
body was seated at table, wearing a more or less belli- 
cose air, while Theodore, looking as correct and rigid 
as an ill-fitting military undress would permit, served 
out the pilaf when Andromache and Kyria Karapolos 
entered the dining-room. 

Andromache took her seat in silence beside Julia, and 
slowly unfolded her napkin with an absent air, and her 
mother at the head of the table began to puff and pant 
and violently fan herself. 

“Pooh ! pooh ! pooh ! what a woman ! I thought 
she would eat poor Andromache.” 

“The music-woman,” remarked Captain Miltiades, 
indistinctly, through a mouthful of pilaf. 

“A savage, Miltiades. She has a servant just like 
herself, who received us as if we were beggars, and 
told us to go upstairs and look for the Natzelhuber our- 
selves. And when we went up, there was a nice-look- 
ing young gentleman with her, a foreigner, fair, I 
should say an Englishman or a Russian — what coun- 
try do you think he comes from, Andromache ? ” 

“Who, mamma?” asked Andromache, coming down 
from the clouds. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


53 


“That fair young man we saw at Natzelhuber’s.” 

“I don't know, I did not pay much attention to 
him,” Andromache replied; and turned her eyes to 
the dish of roast meat Theodore was placing on the 
table. 

“Well, this young man, as I said, was with her, and 
when we entered the room. I assure you she all but 
ordered us out again.” 

“ And why did you not go away? ” demanded the 
Captain, hotly. “You are always getting yourself in- 
sulted for want of proper spirit. ” 

“You are just like your father, ever ready to fly 
into a rage for nothing,” protested Kyria Karapolos, 
sulkily. “ If one followed your advice, there would be 
nothing but quarrelling in the world. By acting civilly 
I have been able to beat down the Natzelhuber’s terms 
very much below my expectations. When I asked her 
what she charged a lesson, I nearly fainted at her 
answer. Thirty francs 1 However, when I expressed 
our position, and how absolutely impossible it would 
be for us to pay more than ten, she consented to receive 
Andromache as a pupil on those terms. But whenever 
I spoke she snubbed me in the most violent manner, 
— called me an old fool.” 

“Perhaps you gave her cause,” sneered Themistoc- 
les, who felt bitter towards his mother, regarding her 
as his natural enemy since she had warned the mother 
of the young lady in the next street of his pennilessness, 
a warning which served to close the doors of that para- 
dise forever to him. 

“How dare you, sir, speak in such a way to your 
mother ? ” thundered the irate Captain, always ready 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


54 

to pounce on the small bank-clerk, whom he despised 
very cordially. “I told you to-day that it would not 
take much to make me kick you into the street. An- 
other offensive word, and see ! ” 

This ebullition quenched all further family expansion 
round the breakfast-table. The girls hurried through 
the meal in silence, keeping their eyes resolutely fixed 
on their plate. One man glowered, and the other 
sulked in offended dignity, rising hurriedly the instant 
Theodore appeared with two small cups of Turkish cof- 
fee for Kyria' Karapolos and the Captain. In another 
instant the street door was heard to bang behind The- 
mistocles, who, with his slim cane, his yellow gloves, 
and minute waist, had gone down to indulge in a 
clerkly saunter as far as Constitution Place, and unbosom 
his harassed and manly soul to two other minute 
confidants previous to turning into the Corinthian 
Bank. 

After his coffee, the Captain went back to his bar- 
racks beyond the Palace, and Andromache sat down 
to practice her scales on a cracked piano in the little 
salon, with a view of the rugged steepness of Lyca- 
bettus and the trellised gardens of the French School 
through the long window. It was a pretty little room, 
with some excellent specimens of Greek art and Byzan- 
tine embroidery, foolish Byzantine saints, in gilt frames, 
with an artificial vacuity of gaze, the artistic achieve- 
ments of the rival Athenian photographers, Romaides 
and Moral tes, views of the Parthenon and the Temple 
of Jupiter, a bomb that had exploded at the very feet of 
Captain Miltiades in the late outbreak at Larissa, upon 
which memorable occasion he had gallantly mangled 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


55 

the bodies of five thousand Turks and scattered their 
armies in shame. This valuable piece of historic in- 
formation I insert for the special benefit of those who 
may presume to question the direct succession of this 
mighty Captain from the much admired warriors of 
Homer. In olden days Captain Miltiades’ glory would 
have quite outshone that of his puny namesake ; as a 
complete hero, upon his own description, he would 
have occupied the niche of fame with Hercules and 
Theseus. 

Necessarily there was the sofa, the Greek seat of hon- 
our. upon which all distinguished visitors are at once 
installed, this law, like that of the Medes and Persians, 
knowing no change. Also sundry tables decorated 
with albums and the school prizes of the young ladies, 
'the bank-clerk, and the Captain of the Artillery. All 
the chairs were covered with white dimity, and the 
floor was polished with bees’ wax, which gave the 
room an aspect of chill neatness. 

Andromache was interrupted in a conscientious study 
of scales by the entrance of her mother and Julia, and 
the formers irrelevant question : 

“ Don’t you think that young man was English, An- 
dromache ? ” 

“I don’t know, mother, possibly,” was Androm- 
ache’s impatient answer, for, though it grieves me to 
unveil the secret workings of a maiden’s mind, I must 
perforce confess that the student was thinking just then 
of Rudolph’s kind and sympathetic glance. 

.“Can’t you stop that horrible noise and describe 
him ? ” said Julia. “ You know I always want to hear 
about foreigners. ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


56 

“ He was fair and tall and handsome, with very- 
kind blue eyes, Jight, not dark like those of Miltiades 
— there, that’s all I can say about him,” said Androm- 
ache, rising, and standing at the window to stare 
across at the gardens of the French School. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


■ 57 


CHAPTER V. 

HOW GUSTAV REINEKE MISSED MADAME JAROVISKY’s BALL. 

The illustrious Dr. Galenideshad just seated himself at 
his desk to write a note to his no less illustrious colleague, 
Dr. Melanos, while his hat and gloves on the study table 
and his carriage outside were testimony of a contem- 
plated professional drive. The study door was suddenly 
opened with what Dr. Galenides regarded as undue 
familiarity, and looking up sharply, prepared to adminis- 
ter the deserved rebuke, the learned physician recog- 
nised in the intruder an old friend and brother in pro- 
fession. The new-comer, a rough, provincial-looking 
Hercules, was Dr. Selaka of Tenos, a member of his 
Majesty's parliament, called for some unaccountable 
reason, “The King of Tenos." Instead of a rebuke, 
Dr. Galenides administered an effusive embrace, and 
clasped this insular majesty to his capacious bosom. 

“ What a splendid surprise, my dear Constantine! ” 
he cried, when he had kissed both Selaka’s bronzed 
cheeks. “When did you come to Athens?" 

“ Last night. I have come to oppose two new 
measures of the Minister. Have you read his speech 
on the Budget ? " 

“Of course. I thought it displayed great moder- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


58 

ation and sagacity. There’s a statesman if you will, 
Constantine.” 

“May the devil sit upon his moustache for an 
English humbug ! England here, England there ! 
Ouf ! But wait until he has me to tackle him.” 

“You’ll lead him a dance, I've no doubt,” laughed 
Galenides. “ But how are all the family ? ” 

“Very well. My niece Inarime is growing more 
beautiful every day. All the islanders are in love with 
her. A queer old dog is Pericles. He has brought that 
girl up in the maddest fashion. Nothing but ancient 
Greek and that sort of thing, and he has made up his 
mind she will marry a foreign archaeologist, or die an 
old maid.” 

“Yes, I always thought him unpractical and foolish, 
but I tremendously respect his learning. Why doesn’t 
he bring the girl to Athens, if he won’t marry her to a 
Teniote ? ” 

“Well, he talks vaguely of some such intention. 
You are going out, I see.” 

“Yes, and that reminds me, Selaka. I was just 
writing a line to Melanos, but you’ll do just as well. 
There is a foreigner sick in the Hotel de la Grande 
Bretagne who has sent for me. Could you go round 
and look at him ? I haven’t a spare moment to-day. 
If I am absolutely wanted for a consultation, of course, 
I’ll endeavour to attend.” 

Selaka consented with alacrity, and the friends parted 
• with cordiality at the door, one to seat himself in 
a comfortable carriage, and be rolled swiftly to the 
Queen’s Hospital in the new quarter of Athens, the 
Teniote to walk to the Hotel de la Grande Bretagne, a 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN . 


59 


little above Constitution Square, overlooking the orange 
trees and fountains in front of the Royal Palace. He 
was delighted with the prospect of meeting a distin- 
guished foreigner, distinction proclaimed in the choice 
of hotel, and he would profit by the occasion to discuss 
the politics of Bismarck with this M. Reineke. 

The waiters favoured him with that insolent recep- 
tion usually bestowed by waiters of distinguished hotels 
upon foot and provincial-looking arrivals. But the 
mention of the illustrious Dr. Galenides cleared the 
haughty brow of Demosthenes; and when Selaka fur- 
thermore stated that that great personage had sent him 
to feel the pulse of the sick foreigner, Demosthenes 
condescended to call to Socrates, a lesser luminary 
among the hotel officials, and signified to his satellite 
that Dr. Selaka might be conducted to M. Reineke’s 
chamber. 

Selaka found his patient, a young man of about 
twenty-eight, lying on a sofa, wrapped in a silk dress- 
ing-gown, with an elegant travelling rug thrown across 
his feet. Selaka’s keen glance rested in amazement on 
a delicate Eastern head, long grave eyes of the unfathom- 
able and colourless shade of water flowing over dark 
tones, with a very noble and intense look in them, a 
high smooth brow that strengthened this expression of 
nobility, and finely-cut lips seen through the waves of 
dark beard and moustache as benign as a sage’s. It 
was a thoughtful, spiritual face, serene in its strength, 
unimpassioned in its kindliness — the face of a student 
and a gentleman. 

“I should never take you to be a German, M. 
Reineke,” said Selaka, after their first greeting, seating 


6o 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


himself beside the sofa, and taking the sick man's 
supple fingers into his. 

“No one does,” said Reineke, in such pure French 
as to put to shame Selaka’s grotesque accent. His 
voice was musical and low, with a softness of tone in 
harmony with his peculiar beauty, and fever gave it a 
ring of weariness. 

4 ‘Are you going to order me quinine, doctor?” 

“Why, naturally. How else would you break a 
fever ? ” 

“But I cannot take it, doctor. It disagrees with 
me..” 

“That is a pity. Four doses taken in four hours cut 
the worst fever, and set a man on his feet in a day.” 

“Some constitutions can bear it, I suppose. But I 
nearly died after quinine treatment in Egypt. My head 
has not ceased going round ever since.” 

“ Your temperature is over a hundred, and you refuse 
to take quinine ! Then there is nothing for you but to 
linger on in this state. Low diet and repose — that is 
all I can prescribe.” 

Left alone, the sick man closed his eyes wearily and 
turned to sleep, out of which he was shaken by a 
knock at the door, and the head of an Englishman 
thrust itself inside. 

“ Can I come in, Mr. Reineke ? ” 

“Pray do, Mr. Warren,” said Reineke, smiling agree- 
ably. “It is kind of you to find time to visit a sick 
wretch amid all your fetes and sight-seeing.” 

“ Oh, that is a real pleasure. Only I am so sorry to 
see you cut up like this and losing all the fun. It was 
awfully jolly at the Von Hohenfels’ last week. There 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


6l 


was an outrageous lioness there. For the life of me I 
could not catch her name. The governor wants to 
secure her for London. By Jove ! what a tartar ! She 
nearly ate the French viscount up in a bite/’ 

“Yes, I heard about it, but she is a very distin- 
guished artist, I believe. You’ve been to Sunium 
since ? ” 

“Came back to-day for the Jaroviskys’ ball. What a 
jolly people these Greeks are ! The entire country 
seems at our disposal. Special trains, special boats 
and guides. Oh, we had an awfully good time, I tell 
you : inspected the Laurion mines, and looked awfully 
wise about them and everything else. But surely you’ll 
be able to go to the Jaroviskys’ to-morrow ? What did 
the doctor say ? ” 

“Nothing wise — a doctor never does.” 

“Look here, old fellow, we can’t leave you here 
while we are dancing and flirting with the pretty 
Athenians.” 

“If the pretty Athenians guessed my nationality, 
they would not be very eager to have me dance and 
flirt with them.” 

“Then the governor was right? You are not a 
German ? ” 

“No, I am a Turk. I have lived a good deal in 
Germany, so 1 adopted a Teuton name upon coming to 
Greece to avoid disagreeable associations for the 
natives. It is very comfortable. I was bored in Paris 
by the way people stared at me, and whispered openly 
about me when they heard my Turkish name, so I 
mean not to resume it. If I played the piano, the 
ladies fell into ecstatic wonder.” 


62 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“Well, we are accustomed to the old-fashioned 
Turk, cross-legged, on a pile of cushions, in flowing 
garb and turban, smoking a narghile, with a lovely 
Fatima or two by his side, and exclaiming frequently 
in sepulchral tones, ‘Allah be praised!’ It will 
doubtless take us some time to grow used to the newer 
picture presented by you. ” 

“Is it not aggravating to be kept here in a darkened 
room, while near me are ruined porticoes and columns, 
where once my people built their Moslem forts and 
turrets, and the voice of the muezzin broke the lone 
silence after the Pagan days ? There is not even a 
glimpse from my window of that mass of broken pillars 
that stood out so plainly against the sky when we 
entered the Piraeus. I feel like a child waiting for the 
play, when suddenly comes a hitch which keeps the 
curtain down. I want to walk with the poets and 
philosophers, read Plato in the groves of the Academe, 
stand with CEdipus and Antigone at Colonneus, and 
look towards the towers and temples of Athens, walk 
with Pericles and Phidias through the marbles of the 
Acropolis, with none but the voices of glorious spirits 
to break the silence of the universe, — those spirits who 
have burned into history the clear gold of their unap- 
proachable intellects, seeing with eyes that have served 
for centuries, feeling with hearts that have beaten for 
all time, speaking with lips upon which the noblest 
words are everlastingly carven.” 

“Gad, I see you are an enthusiast like our friend, 
Miss Winters, who goes into fits when we inform her 
of some fresh rascality on the part of the modern 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 63 

Greeks/’ cried young Warren, marvelling to hear a 
Turk talk in this fashion. 

“She is a charming old lady, and you youngsters 
downstairs should not quiz her as you do. She en- 
gaged, if I were better, to carry me with her on Sunday 
to read Paul’s sermon to the men of Athens on the hill 
of Mars aloud. I have since been informed that it is 
customary for the Athenians to take their Sunday 
airing along the foot of the hill of Mars. Fancy the 
sensation we should have created, standing in a re- 
spectful attitude beside the little American lady, piously 
reading aloud the words of St. Paul.” 

Reineke laughed softly, while young Warren ex- 
ploded in a burst of loud merriment. 

“ Do you know, when she discovered that the ruffian 
of a head-waiter is called Demosthenes, she looked so 
horribly like embracing him, that, seriously alarmed, 
I exclaimed, ‘Madam, I beseech you, pause in your 
rash career. ’ I don’t think she quite realised the ex- 
tent of my service, for she very nearly quarrelled with 
me when I mentioned that Demosthenes is in the habit 
of defrauding our poor Jehus of at least half their 
profits. ” 

“Amiable enthusiast! But don’t class me with her. 
I have no illusions about the modern Greeks. I have 
seen in the East how they take advantage of our good- 
nature and our dislike to trade. I know them to cheat 
and bargain and deceive, and grow fat upon the kind- 
ness of those who trust them. But what have they in 
common with the ancients? They have not the in- 
tellect, the unerring taste, the exquisite restraint of lan- 
guage and bearing, the sunny gravity of temperament, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


64 

the simplicity and keen love of the beautiful. If they 
were really the descendants of the old race, there would 
be some signs whereby we should recognise their 
glorious heritage. ” 

“ I don't know. Perhaps, if we knew the opinion 
held by the Persians and the barbarians of the old 
Hellenes — it would be probably very different from 
their own.” 

“We don’t need any opinion with the works they 
have left. Such eloquence as that is incontrovertible, and 
in the face of it, their representatives to-day are as much 
out of place here as were the Franks, the Italians and 
the Turks. It was a desecration to have built on these 
immortal shores a nation sprung from slavery and the 
refuse of the Middle Ages — without tradition or any 
right to believe in its own destiny. What do they care 
for ? Money, trade ! They have no real reverence for 
knowledge, except that it helps in the acquirement 
of wealth and power. You will find no Greek ready to 
consecrate his days, aye, and his nights, to the disin- 
terested dispersion of the clouds of ignorance by as much 
as a rushlight of knowledge, capable of the unglorified, 
untrumpeted, unrecognised patience and labour of the 
scholar. Nor would he willingly choose poverty and 
obscurity that he might live the life of the spirit.” 

“Well, I am afraid there are not many of us who 
would,” said Warren, good-naturedly. “And these 
people have their virtues. They are sober and moral.” 

“They are indeed, and they are not cruel to their chil- 
dren or their wives, but they make up for the omission 
by horrible cruelty to animals. They frequently amuse 
themselves by tying a barrel of petroleum to the tails of 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


65 

a couple of dogs, and firing it, for the delicate pleasure 
of gloating over the death agonies of the poor brutes.” 

“ Good heavens ! What awful savages ! But do you 
know, Mr. Reineke, it would be a just punishment for 
your ill opinion of them if you fell in love with a Greek, 
'Pon my word, there are some very pretty girls here.” 

“ It is possible. But mere beauty has no attraction 
for me. I have seen lovely women in the East, indo- 
lent, unthinking beings, whom I couldn’t respect. I 
would sooner have a wicked woman who had elements 
of greatness in her than a virtuous one who had none. 
Aspasia I should have adored. It is because the women 
we mostly meet are so insipid that I have never thought 
to fill my life with the consuming excitement of love. 
I should feel ashamed and grieved to place my man- 
hood under the feet of a mere household pet, or a draw- 
ing-room ornament, a fluttering, flounced marionette 
with the soul in her eyes gone astray, her lips twisted 
out of the lovely sensibility of womanhood by sense- 
less chatter and laughter far sadder than tears. To' see 
so many exquisite creatures meant to be worshipped 
by us, and only ridiculed, meant to guide and en- 
noble us, and preferring degradation ; the purity of 
maidenly eyes lost in the vilest audacity of gaze, and 
the high post of spiritual guardians of the world bartered 
for unworthy conquests.” 

“ How cold-blooded to be able to furnish all these ex- 
cellent reasons for not making a fool of yourself ! Well, 
may we hope to see you at the Jaroviskys’? ” 

“I am afraid not. But pray, come and tell me how 
you have enjoyed yourself when you have a moment 
to spare.” 


5 


66 


DA UGH TEDS OF MEN. 


‘•And shall I give your love to Miss Winters? ” 

“Hardly that, but present her with my most distin- 
guished compliments, if that is good English.” 

Dr. Selaka that evening found Reineke more fever- 
ish, and although he was not anxious to lose sight of 
his patient, he seriously advised a sea voyage as the only 
adequate substitution for quinine. 

He was greatly interested in this handsome stranger 
with the dark beard and romantic intensity of gaze, and 
speculated wildly on his nationality and circumstances 
as he walked from the hotel. He thought he might be 
a Spaniard, until, remembering the late Spanish Minis- 
ter, who could not pay his passage back to Spain, and 
only got as far as Corfu by selling all the clothes and 
furniture he had never paid for, he decided that the 
Spaniards were a miserable race. The Italians, he 
thought, were not much better, and Reineke as little 
resembled a Frenchman as he did a German. 

“You might go to Poros,” he said to Gustav. “ It 
is a pretty place, and the trip would do you good.” 

“Why not one of the .Egean Islands?” suggested 
Gustav. 

“Certainly. There is Tenos. I live there myself, 
and I have a brother whom you could stay with for a 
day or two.” 

Selaka coloured with a sudden astonishing thought. 
This stranger was rich, perhaps unmarried. He might 
fall in love with Inarime. Now he was bent on urging 
the trip to Tenos, before undreamed of. ‘ « I’ll telegraph 
to my brother, and you can travel in the Sphacteria. 
The captain is my godson.” 

“You are very kind, doctor, and I am ashamed to 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 67 

accept such favours from you, ’'said Reineke, truthfully, 
in surprised assent. 

“Oh, it is a pleasure. We Greeks love to see stran- 
gers." 

“Then I will go to-morrow. I want to get well as 
soon as possible, for I have much to do here," said 
Reineke. 


68 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A FIGHT IN THE CAMP OF HELLAS. 

Crossing Constitution Square the king of Tenos was 
hilariously accosted by one of his satellites, a member 
of the Opposition and a lawyer of parchment exterior, 
whose career had been varied as it was unremunerative. 
Starting in life as domestic servant, he had found leis- 
ure to attend the University, and buy legal books with 
his perquisites. His stern profession by no means im- 
peded the unsuccessful editorship of several newspapers 
— comic, political and satirical, each of which enjoyed 
a kind of ephemeral reputation and lasted about six 
months, leaving the venturous editor with a lighter 
pocket, and now he was Selaka’s colleague in obstruc- 
tion. 

“This is the best answer to my telegram, Constan- 
tine,” said Stavros. “What a day we’ll have of it in 
the Boule* — eh? ” 

“ Oh, ay, the Budget Speech. Leave it to me, Stavros. 
We’ll egg them onto an explosion. Keep to the carica- 
tures. Collars and cuffs Minister! Ouf! Have you 
been pumping our friends about the Mayoralty ? ” 

“Trust me. Our side is for you to a man. The 

* The Greeks call their modern Parliament by the classical name 
of Boule. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


69 

party for Oidas is strong, I admit, and wealth is in his 
favour, but I think we shall be able to pull you 
through.” 

“If only ! Listen, Stavros, if I get in as Mayor, I’ll 
make you a present of a thousand francs, and I’ll secure 
your son the first vacant place in the University. I 
know your power,” he added, slyly. 

The man of documents swelled with a sense of his 
own importance. Of that he had no doubt. The min- 
istry depended on the state of his temper, which was 
uncertain, and the Lord be praised, what is a man if he 
has not his influence at the beck and call of his friends ? 

“Oidas has spent a lot of money on the town,” he 
hinted. 

“That is so. He is enormously rich, and takes 
care to advertise that fact,” Dr. Selaka replied. 

“Well, we must spend money too, — in some cases we 
can only seem to spend it, and it will come to the same 
thing, my friend. But I’m hopeful, Constantine. You 
started on good lines. The swiftest path to celebrity is 
opposition, and you have never done anything else 
but oppose. It is a fine career, man, and gives you a 
decided superiority over the humble and compliant. 
The man who opposes need never trouble himself for 
reasons. His vote on the introduction of a measure is 
sufficient to insure him importance.” 

“ If obstruction be a merit, I have been obstructing 
these ten years, and the Mayoralty of Athens seems 
rather a modest claim upon such a display of superior- 
ity, ’’said Dr. Selaka, quite seriously. 

The lawyer's humour was profoundly tickled. The 
follies of the weak and foolish were a source of infinite 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


70 

amusement^ to him. It was he who had urged the 
Teniote to the coming ambitious contest, not that he in 
the least contemplated success, but he understood that 
with a wiser man to lead, his part would be a much 
less exciting one. 

“We are th e, Parnellistoi of Greece, Constantine, ” he 
said, with an air of ponderous assertion. “ We maybe 
beaten, but our hour of triumph is only retarded.” 

He conscientiously consulted his watch, and then 
added, as an afterthought : 

“You will need a larger house, Constantine.” 

“I have thought of that, and have been inquiring 
about the expenses of building. I have a spot in view 
near the new Hospital. It will be a heavy item added 
to my election expenses, but my brother Pericles will 
come to my assistance, I make no doubt.” 

“Why does he not come here himself, and establish 
his family? The man is insane to bury himself in 
Tenos. ” 

“ With as handsome a daughter as ever the eyes of 
man fell upon,” interrupted the doctor, angrily. 

“My faith ! you must bring him to Athens. A hand- 
some niece well dowered will be a feather in your cap. 
Play her off against Oidas, and you’ll have the men on 
your side.” 

“Pouf! Use a woman in politics! But if Pericles 
will let me look out for a son-in-law for him, something 
might be done in that way.” 

“ Why not? There are Mingros and Palle, both rich 
men. With either of them for a nephew you might 
aspire to be prime minister.” 

“You don’t know Pericles. He is a confounded 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


71 

idiot. Nothing but learning will go down with him. 
Death before dishonour. Modern Athens represents 
dishonour to him, because it presumes to prefer other 
things to the very respectable ancients. If he came to 
Athens, like Jarovisky, he would expect Inarime to fix 
her eyes permanently on the Acropolis, with intervals 
for recognition of the Theseium and minor points of 
antiquity. I foresee her end. He’ll marry her to some 
wretched twopenny-halfpenny archaeologist, who will 
barely be able to pay the rent of a flat in some shabby 
street, and the wages of a maid of all work. ” 

“We must avert her doom, Constantine. Have her 
up to town, and bring her some night to the theatre 
when the King is expected to attend. The young men 
will stare at her from the stalls, and I’ll have an elegant 
verse upon her in the ‘ New Aristophanes. ’ ” 

This proposition brought them to theBoule in Stadion 
Street. The Prime Minister’s carriage was outside, and 
along the railing a row of loafers reclined, discussing 
each member as he passed in, and the space inside the 
gates was strewn with soldiers and civilians of every 
grade. The sharp swarthy faces lit up with eager re- 
cognition when Dr. Selaka and Stavros entered the gate, 
and familiar and jocose greetings were flung casually at 
them from the crowd. 

“Glad to see you have a new coat, Constantine,” 
one urchin roared after Selaka, and sent his admirers 
into fits of laughter. 

With the dignity of demeanour it behoved a mayor- 
elect to assume, Selaka coldly ignored the jibes and 
jokes of the loafers, touched his hat to his acquaintances 
and ascended the steps of the Chamber with weighty 


7 2 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


prophecy of obstruction upon his brow. The interior 
of the Chamber was a sight for the gods. The floor 
behind the president was held by corner-boys, soldiers, 
peasants and beggars in common with the representa- 
tives of King George’s Parliament. Deputies in fusta- 
nella and embroidered jacket showed pictorially against 
the less imposing apparel of civilisation, and addressed 
the president at their ease, frequently not condescend- 
ing to stand, but lounged back in their seats, and merely 
arrested his attention with an authoritative hand. The 
proceedings could be watched upstairs from a gallery 
of boxes, and a very amusing and lively half-hour might 
thus be spent. The stage below was filled with grown- 
up children, who fought and wrangled, exchanged 
amenities and breathless personalities, and foolishly 
imagined they were ruling the country. It is impos- 
sible to conjecture what a parliament of women would 
be like, but we can safely predict that it could not well 
surpass the average parliament of men in the futile 
chatter, squabbling and display of ill-temper. 

Dr. Selaka took his seat in a leisurely manner, under 
the minister’s eye, on the front seat, and listened, with 
a protruded underlip and the look of sagacity on the 
alert. Stavros sat back, extending his arms behind the 
backs of his neighbours, and wore an expression of os- 
tentatious amusement befitting the editor of a satirical 
newspaper. 

The unlucky minister hazarded a loose statement, 
which gave Dr. Selaka his opportunity. He was on 
his legs, with two spots of excited red staining his sal- 
low cheeks under the eyes, and opened a vehement fire 
of epithet and expostulation. The minister retorted, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


73 

and Stavros, seated where he was, just held out a cool 
protesting finger, and cried: “You lie.” 

The English Cabinet Minister was sitting upstairs in 
the box set apart for the diplomatic corps, and on this 
statement being translated to him, he leant forward and 
focussed the lawyer with his impertinent eyeglass. 
This was a species of parliamentary frankness with 
which he was not familiar, used as he was to having 
his veracity challenged in a variety of forms. As a 
novelty it was worth observing — especially the attitude 
of the minister thus given “ the lie direct.” 

The president tapped the table and called for order, 
which was naturally the signal for boisterous disorder. 
The premier sat down amidst a torrent of words, and 
the Minister of Foreign Affairs rose to fight his battle 
as chief lieutenant. The storm raged to the pitch of 
universal howls, and when at last there was a momen- 
tary lull in the atmosphere, exasperated by the abuse 
of which he had been the free recipient, Stavros jumped 
up, and flashing threateningly upon the Minister of 
Foreign Affairs, roared out : — 

“It well becomes you to abuse me. You live in a 
fine house now, and keep your carriage, but for all that, 
I can remember the time when you were glad to wear 
my old clothes.” 

Dead silence greeted this retort, and a grim smile re- 
laxed the grave faces of the members. No personality 
is too gross to tickle this most democratic race, and 
anything that levels the proud man delights them. The 
Right Honourable Samuel Warren, M. R, upstairs, de- 
cided to take the light of his illustrious presence from 
such a shocking scene, wavered, and remembering 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


74 

mythology, bethought himself of the laughter of the 
gods. He was abroad in the -pursuit of knowledge, 
and this was certainly experience. 

Stavros was frantically adjured to withdraw and 
apologise, and as frantically refused to do any such 
thing. His colleague and imagined leader stood up in 
his defence, and the obstructionist became riotous to 
the verge of hysterics, until the Right Honourable 
Samuel Warren, looking down upon the spectacle from 
a safe distance, really believed he had been dropped 
into Bedlam instead of Parliament. Uproar succeeded 
angry protest in deafening succession ; with the rapid- 
ity of thought mere speech was rejected as inadequate 
to the occasion. The generals, almost as numerous as 
soldiers, jumped upon their seats and brandished their 
hats terrifically. The hapless president made his 
escape, leaving the chair to one of the vice-presidents, 
and Constantine Selaka with an agile bound cleared 
the space intervening between the members’ seats and 
the tribune, installed himself therein, and shouted his 
intention of keeping the Chamber sitting until the de- 
mands of his party were complied with. 

“And would Kyrios Selaka be good enough to state 
categorically the demands of his party ? ” the Prime 
Minister asked, standing to go, holding his hat in his 
hand, with an officially negative look. 

This was a rash invitation. Selaka burst into an in- 
terminable, involved and idiotic speech, which Stavros 
followed from his seat with one much more involved 
and personal, and much less idiotic. 

Evening descended, the dinner-hour passed, and still 
the unfortunate vice-president held the chair, and ex- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


75 


ercised his authority by a furious and inappropriate 
ringing of the bell, and calls for attention. Exhausted 
and famished deputies dropped out of representative 
life in search of animal food ; others clamoured for ces- 
sation of the strife, and pathetically referred to the solace 
of the domestic circle. But Stavros and Selaka were 
adamant. The clamours of nature were unheeded by 
them ; when one shouted and orated, the other sought 
comfort in cigarette and coffee. Night came, and found 
Selaka still in the tribune, gloomy, ravenous, and reso- 
lute. Meanwhile Stavros had refreshed himself with a 
snatch of food outside. He returned to the charge while 
his leader shot into the corridors, and collared excited 
and admiring attendants in the pursuit of food. 

“ We areas good as the Parnellistoi over in London," 
Selaka remarked, and rubbed his hands with joy, as he 
and his friend walked home at the end of the protracted 
sitting. 

“That is so, Constantine," said Stavros, who dearly 
loved a row of any sort, and who since he could not 
fight the European powers in person, solaced himself 
by fighting a temporising president and a tame party. 
“ You’ll be mayor to a certainty.” 

“Mayor indeed!” ejaculated Constantine, keenly 
measuring his own sudden charge for notoriety. “ It’s 
minister at least I ought to be. I have tackled them, 
Stavros, eh ? ” 

His friend thought so, and went home to express his 
opinion in three columns of laudatory prose and twelve 
satirical verses describing the great Homeric fray. 


76 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER VII. 

PHOTINI NATZELHUBER. 

Many years ago a German mechanic drifted, in the 
spirit of adventure, eastwards, and finding the condi- 
tions of life offered him in Athens sufficiently attractive 
for a man desirous of earning his bread in the easiest 
manner possible, and not contemptuously inclined to- 
wards the midday siesta, the excellent Teuton settled 
down in the city we may presume to be no longer under 
the special patronage of Wisdom. Not that Jacob Natzel- 
huber regretted that Athens’ reign was over. The me- 
chanic was ignominiously indifferent to all great ques- 
tions, and so long as his employers continued to pay 
him his weekly wages, conscientiously earned and con- 
scientiously saved, the extravagances of the unfortunate 
King Otho and the virtues of Queen Amelia troubled him 
as little as did the glorious ruins on the Acropolis. He 
never went near the Acropolis. When his glance rested 
on the mass of broken pillars and temples that dominate 
every view of the town, he doubtless confused them 
with the eccentric shapes of the adjoining hills, and if 
asked his opinion of that point of classic memories, 
would tranquilly remove his pipe from his lips and re- 
mark that the other hill, his own special friend, Lyca- 
bettus, was higher. A good-humored, egoistic, phleg- 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, 


77 


matic workman, for the rest ; fond of leisurely medita- 
tion on nothing, fond of smoking in his shirt-sleeves 
with the help of an occasional glass of mastia or brandy, 
and convinced that the world goes very well now as it 
did in olden days, and that the Greek is a composite of 
barbarian and child. 

In a wife one naturally chooses what is most con- 
venient, if one cannot obtain what is most suitable. 
Jacob chanced upon an enormous indolent maiden, 
dowered as Greek maids usually are, with a father whose 
house property was prophetic of better things to come. 
The girl was not handsome — nor as cleanly or learned 
in household matters as a German frau ; but some half 
dozen years in the makeshift of Oriental domestic life 
had served to deaden Jacob’s fastidious sensibilities in 
this department, and with the prospect of a little money 
and a couple of houses in the neighbourhood of Lyca- 
bettus by and by, on the death of a respectable father- 
in-law, he was so far demoralised as to face this unsa- 
vory future with tolerable tranquillity. They married. 

The slow and philosophic Teuton found his Athenian 
wife and their one servant — a small barefooted child, in 
perpetual terror of her mistress, whose reprimands gen- 
erally came upon her in the shape of tin utensils, water- 
jugs or stiff tugs of hair and ear — rather more noisy 
than a simple woman and child should be, to his 
thinking. But he preferred a quiet smoke on the bal- 
cony to interference in the kitchen, whence the sounds 
of hysterical cries, very bad language indeed, and sun- 
dry breaking articles reached him. 

The lady, when not in a rage, a rare enough occur- 
rence, was an amiable woman so long as her innocent 


DA UGllTERS OF MEN. 


78 

habits were not interfered with. Jacob was indisposed 
to interfere with any one — even with his own wife. So 
Kyria Photini peacefully smoked her three or four ciga- 
rettes, and drank her small glass of cognac of an even- 
ing, chattered in high Athenian tones with her neigh- 
bours, arrayed in a more or less soiled white morning 
jacket, and any kind of a skirt, with black hair all 
dishevelled, and sallow cheeks not indicative of an 
immoderate preference for cold water and soap. The 
little maid trembled and broke plates, went about with 
bare feet, short skirts and unkempt woolly hair, meeting 
her mistress’s vituperations with a wooden animal look, 
and lifting a protective arm to catch the threatened blow 
or object. Jacob was not happy, but he was philosopher 
enough to know that few people ever are, and that the 
highest wisdom consists in knowing how to make the 
best of even the worst. He was fond of his wife in his 
heavy German fashion, removed his pipe, and said, 
“come, come,” when the heat unstrung her nerves and 
sent her from her normal condition, bordering on hys- 
terics, into positive madness ; consoled himself by 
remembering that distinguished men in ail ages have 
agreed that woman is incomprehensible, and hoped for 
some acceptable amelioration with the birth of the ex- 
pected baby. 

The baby came, a small dark girl, and the baby's 
mother went to heaven, Jacob naturally supposed, and 
shed the customary tears of regret, though it can hardly 
have been happiness or comfort that he regretted. He 
en g a g e d an Athenian woman to look after the child, 
and returned to his daily work and bachelor habits, 
deterred by recent experiences from making any other 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


79 

venture in the search of domestic bliss. The child was 
called Photini, and it was greatly to be hoped that a 
little of the paternal temperament would go to correct 
the vices of the maternal, but there are relative stages 
in the path of moral development, and a lazy, hysterical, 
soulless woman is not the worst thing in feminine 
nature. 

Photini grew up pretty much as the animals do, with- 
out any but merely natural obligations placed upon her. 
She ran about like a little street arab, learned neither read- 
ing, nor writing, nor catechism, nor sewing ; swore like a 
small trooper, was more than a match for the barefooted, 
unkempt-headed girl, who soon learned to tremble be- 
fore her as she had formerly trembled before her mother ; 
was even too much for her quiet father, who began to be 
afraid of her furious explosions, and was too indifferent 
to the duties of paternity to trouble himself seriously about 
her education. Yet a pretty and striking child she was, 
with large topaz eyes, that in their audacity and frankness 
were sufficient in themselves to arrest attention, if there 
were no mossy black curls making an engaging net- 
work above and around the fine boyish brow ; with 
the absurdest and sauciest nose and a wide, pale mouth 
that had a way of twisting itself into every imaginable 
grimace without losing a certain disreputable charm of 
curve and expression. A face full of precocious evil, but 
withal exquisitely candid — what the French would call 
a ragged face, warning you and yet claiming a sort of 
indefinable admiration from its absolute courage and 
truthfulness. She took to the streets as kindly as if she 
had been born in them, rolling about in mud and dust 
in the full enjoyment of unfettered childhood, dealing 


8o 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


blows, expletives, kisses and ugly names with generous 
indifference. With every one she quarrelled, not as 
children do, but as savages quarrel, fiercely and mur- 
derously ; but even in this innocent age she displayed 
a frank preference for the male sex. Girls filled her 
with unlimited contempt, and she was never really 
happy unless surrounded by a group of noisy, quar- 
relling boys. Then her pretty teeth would gleam in 
wild laughter, and she would talk more nonsense in five 
minutes than any six ordinary girls in an hour. 

The father saw the lamentable condition of his child, 
but being a philosopher and caring only for abstract 
meditations and his ease, he preferred that she should 
be kept out of his sight as much as possible, than that he 
should be asked to mend matters. What can a man be 
expected to do with a motherless baby girl ? Not teach 
it the alphabet, surely? Nor walk it about the barren 
slopes of Lycabettus of a Sunday, nor initiate it into 
the mysteries of the Catechism ? Clearly there was 
nothing else for a hard-working and good-tempered 
German to do but let nature work her will on such un- 
promising and unmanageable material, and continued to 
smoke his pipe and drink his mastic at his favourite cof- 
fee-house fronting Lycabettus. If nature failed, it was 
far from likely that he should succeed, and it was too 
much to expect him to devote his rare leisure hours to 
his unruly child. The neighbours did not, however, re- 
gard it in this light; but then neighbours never are dis- 
posed to regard the concerns of others from a reasonable 
point of view. So many improvements they could bring 
into the management of your family matters which they 
fail to bring into their own. No, no ; leave a philoso- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


8 1 


pher to find the easiest road of life and to discover a way 
out of all domestic responsibilities. Socrates was an ad- 
mirable example in this high path, and if he could dis- 
course in public on the immortality of the soul and 
other subjects, while his much calumniated wife and 
child wanted bread at home, a more modest individual 
like Jacob Natzelhuber might certainly sip his mastic 
in the Greek sunshine, and cherish a poor opinion of 
the policy of Metternich, while his little daughter was 
running about the narrow Athenian streets. 

But there was one saving and remarkable grace 
about Photini. Not only did she display a nascent pas- 
sion for music, but even as an infant she had shown an 
amazing taste for thrumming imaginary tunes on every 
object with which her fingers came in contact. When not 
fighting with a dozen amiable little beggars, or rolling 
delightedly in mud and dust, she was always to be seen 
playing this imaginary music of hers, and on the few 
occasions when her father took her to hear the German 
band on the Patissia Road, the sight of the King and 
Queen on horseback was nothing to her in comparison 
with the joy of sound. 

This growing passion was becoming too prominent 
and imperious to be long overlooked ; besides, Jacob 
had a German’s reverence for true musical proclivities, 
so he purchased the cheapest piano to be had, engaged 
the services of a Bavarian music master who had come 
to Athens in the hope of making his fortune under his 
compatriot king, and for so many hours in the day, at 
least, Photini was guaranteed from mischief. Her pro- 
gress was something more than astonishing, and caused 
the Bavarian to give his spectacles an extra polish before 


82 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


announcing gravely to Jacob that Liszt himself could 
not ask for a more promising pupil. This naturally 
made Jacob very thoughtful, and sent his aimless med- 
itations into quite a new channel. It is a negative 
condition of mind to feel that one has a poor opinion 
of Metternich, but to learn that one has a genius in 
one’s daughter leads to disagreeably positive reflec- 
tions. 

Now Jacob was a quiet man, we know, and the idea 
of an exceptional child frightened him. It was not an 
enviable responsibility in his estimation. Far from it, 
a distinctly painful one. An ordinary girl who would 
have grown just a little better-looking than her mother, 
learned to sew and housekeep in the usual way, and 
terminated an uneventful girlhood by marriage into 
something better than mechanics, thanks to his industry 
and economy — this was his ideal of a daughter’s 
career. Evidently here Nature thought differently. 

As soon, however, as he had given a conscientious at- 
tention to Photini’s talent, greatly injured by the modest 
instrument on which she played, he came to the con- 
clusion that this was not a case in which man can inter- 
fere, and that he was before a vocation claiming its 
legitimate right of sovereignty and refusing to be shifted 
off into the shallow byways of existence. 

“I am of your opinion,” he said to the Bavarian 
master. “It is no common talent, that of my girl, 
but for my part I would far rather she did not know 
a major from a minor scale. It is not a woman’s 
business. However, I can do nothing now. I leave 
the matter in your hands. I am a poor man, but what- 
ever you propose, as far as it is honourably necessary, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 83 

I will make an effort to meet your proposal,” he aaded, 
with a slow, grave look. 

“ There is nothing for it but Germany, Natzelhuber,” 
said the Bavarian, promptly. “ I should fancy we 
might manage, with the help of your father-in-law, a 
little influence I possess, and the girl’s own genius, to 
get her three or four years’ study in Leipzig. Once 
that much assured, she need only keep her head above 
water, and the waves will surely carry her ” 

The Bavarian flung out his hands in an attitude sug- 
gestive of infinity. 

“ Well, well, so long as they do not carry her into 
evil,” said Jacob, shaking his head mournfully. “ I am 
mistrustful of a public career for a woman.” 

“You cannot deny that it is better than marriage 
with a man of your own class.” 

“I am not so sure about that. But I am afraid Pho- 
tini will turn out one of those women who had best 
avoid marriage with any one. She does not look likely to 
make any man happy, or herself either. A perverse, 
passionate, uneducated girl, with more ugly names in 
her head than any two ordinary street boys, and not a 
single good or amiable instinct in her that I can see.” 

Jacob, excellent man, quite forgot to take into con- 
sideration that he himself was far from innocent of 
these disastrous results, and that his paternal indiffer- 
ence had had far more to do with her ill condition than 
any predisposition of the child’s. 

“That is quite another matter and one that concerns 
me not at all,” rejoined the Bavarian, indifferently. “Art, 
my dear sir, Art ! Fraulein Photini represents an ab- 
stract idea to me. The problem of her destiny as a 


34 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


woman has no attraction for me. She may marry, or 
she may not — she is not a pretty girl, but I have seen men 
make idiots of themselves about uglier. It all depends 
on the spectacles you use. But I am of opinion that a 
woman of genius has no business with marriage. 
Goethe, you may remember, wisely calls it the grave 
of her genius.” 

“Probably, but there is time enough to think of that.” 

Photini’s grandfather, when consulted, was only too 
glad to contribute towards the speculation of winging 
this hybrid fledgling from the parent nest. The Greeks 
have a naive respect for fame, of which there was promise 
in Photini’s talent, so her relatives willingly abstracted 
a portion from the family funds for her use. 

One October morning, Photini, a stripling rather than 
a girl, of fifteen, with big keen yellow eyes and soft dark 
curls breaking away from the eyebrows in petulant 
confusion over and round her head like a boy’s, escorted 
by a faintly disapproving and anxious father, left the 
Piraeus on an Austrian liner bound for Trieste. Not 
at all a pretty or attractive girl, most people would de- 
cide ; of a vulgar indefiniteness of type and a coarseness 
of expression hardly excused by the charming hair and 
strange eyes. But she had the virtue of extreme youth 
on her side, as shown in the slender and supple frame, 
in the freshness and surprise of her glance, and in the 
rounded olive cheek melting into a full throat like a bird’s. 
And youth, God bless it, carries its own apology any- 
where ; it is the time of possibilities and vague hopes. 
This girl might, nay, must grow less brusque, less vulgar, 
less boyish with the development of womanhood ; and 
as her features would refine, so would her heart, at 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


85 

present as safe and hard as a coral, expand and open 
out its hidden buds of tremulous sensibility and delicate 
feeling. 

Her second year in Leipzig brought her the third 
medal, and a decided reputation, yet there were many 
complaints against her. She had unpardonable fits of 
idleness broken by explosions of temper, and language 
hardly less gross than what might be expected in the 
lowest phase of society. These shortcomings, added 
to a sharpness of manner and a coarseness of mind, 
terrified and astounded her masters, who, however, 
were ready enough to overlook such deficiencies when 
under the spell of her masterful playing. A girl of 
seventeen with already an unmistakable fire of inspira- 
tion and an echo of Liszt in her touch was not to be de- 
spised clearly, whatever her vices, and they, alas ! were 
many, and promised to be more. Her companions 
shunned her, and her masters spoke of her as “La ga- 
mine,” no other appellation being so justly indicative of 
her appearance and manners. 

In the fourth year she left the Conservatoire, its ac- 
knowledged star, and capable now of steering her own 
course in whatever direction impulse or deliberate 
choice might push her. One of the fortunate of this 
earth, standing, at twenty, apart, wrapped in the con- 
scious cloak of genius, a majesty, alas ! she was inca- 
pable of measuring, and which she was destined only 
to trail in the mire without reaping any benefit, pecu- 
niary or social, from its possession. It was almost as 
sad a mistake on the part of Nature as if she had en- 
dowed one of the lower animals with some glorious 
gift which could never be to it other than a grotesque 


86 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


ornament. The girl understood nothing of responsi- 
bility, and yet she was proud, unapproachably proud as 
an artist. She felt and gloried in her superiority in a 
stupid senseless way ; could not acquit herself of the 
commonest civility towards those who were desirous 
of helping her, had not the remotest idea of gratitude or 
the art of gracious acceptance, and considered incon- 
ceivable rudeness to every one who addressed her as 
her natural right. She ought to have been happy, and 
would doubtless have been so had she known ambition, 
or felt a moderate but healthy desire to please. But 
she was hardly conscious of feelings of any kind, only 
of blind dim instincts of which she could give no ac- 
count to herself. Poor dumb, unfinished creature with 
but half a soul, and that run to music. It was pitiable. 
As she massed follies, proud stupidities, and degrada- 
tions one upon the other, until the thinnest thread of com- 
mon sense, of merely animal self-protection was lost 
to view, one could only wonder and grieve, but not ex- 
cuse. Nature seemed to have been the sinner, and the 
extravagant creature her victim. And then there were 
lucid moments — wretched awakenings, stupefied con- 
templation of the havoc that had been made of promise, 
of ripe chances, and, by way of anodyne, a deeper 
plunge into the mire. 

Her first act of independence was a concert in Leipzig 
which proved an abnormal success, and then upon the 
advice of her director she went to Vienna, furnished 
with letters for Liszt. The amiable and courtly king 
of pianists received her with an exquisite cordiality, 
expressed the highest satisfaction with her ‘ abilities, 
gave her a few finishing instructions which she received, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


87 

as was her wont, ungraciously enough ; used his influ- 
ence in securing her success with his own special public, 
and recommended her to Rubinstein, who was then 
on his way back from England. This was the beginning 
of the only lasting period of lucidity in her mad career. 

She left Vienna with Liszts portrait and his autograph, 
“ To the Queen of Sound,” added to her meagre luggage, 
for it was not her way to decorate her plainness of 
person by any unnecessary attention to her toilet. Just 
as, music excepted, she was totally uneducated, illiterate 
even, barely able to write a letter that would shame a 
peasant, in Greek or German, — which languages she 
regarded as equally her native tongues, — so her person 
was left rigidly unadorned. At twenty the results of 
untidiness are not so deplorable as at thirty or forty, 
for there is always the fresh round cheek and clear gaze 
as a relief, and then the complete absence of vanity in 
a very young girl, constantly before the public in a 
prominent position, is something so unusual that one 
can afford to iegard it with a smile of wonder rather 
than one of disdain. The striking feature of the case 
was that she was fond of male society — particularly 
of the admiring and love-making male. But heaven 
help the innocence of the lover who expected her to 
put on a bow, or brush her hair, or choose a hat with 
a view to please him ! 

Rubinstein was more than satisfied with her ; paid 
little or no attention to any eccentricity of exterior or 
manner, and was ready and glad to do all in his power 
to advance her. After some years of hard work and 
occasional public appearances, it was agreed that she 
should spend a season at St. Petersburg. 


88 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


Everybody was disposed to receive her with open 
arms and lift her to a permanent and glorious pedestal. 
But good-natured and art-loving Russian princesses 
and countesses had calculated without their host. This 
young lady had no desire to be patronised or helped. 
People might come to her concerts or to her as pupils, 
and they might stay away : it mattered little to her 
which they did. In either case she was pretty sure to 
regard them as idiots, and if they came to her they 
would have the advantage of hearing it, — that was the 
difference, which made it easier for them to stay away, 
as not only the Russian princesses and countesses found 
out, but also the princes and counts. They might invite 
her to their entertainments, but it was a wise precaution 
on their part not to feel too sure of her presence — as 
for expecting an answer to a polite letter or message, or 
civil treatment upon a morning call or at a lesson, well, 
all this lay without the range of probabilities for the most 
sanguine. 

Her peculiarities were incredible. Rubinstein’s name 
and influence opened every door to her, and the results 
were unique. She appeared at one Grand Duchess’s in 
evening dress with woollen gloves, to the dumb amaze- 
ment of distinguished guests, one sprightly duchess 
wondering why she had omitted to come in water- 
proof and goloshes. When introduced to an ambassa- 
dor, and informed of his passion for music, she coolly 
surveyed him from the top of his bald head to the edge 
of his white gold-striped trousers, and said to her 
host : “Ido not want to be introduced to him. A 
fellow in gold can know nothing about music.” 

Her pupils she treated even worse. One young coun- 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


89 

tess who was studying Chopin with her sent her a rich 
plum cake. The Natzelhuber, as she was called, was 
smoking a cigarette when the servant entered with the 
countess’s letter, followed by a powdered footman who 
presented her the cake with a stately bow. 

“ Does your mistress fancy I am starving ? ” roared 
the artist, throwing away her cigarette and seizing the 
cake in both hands. “ What do I want with her trum- 
pery cakes ? Tell her that is the reception it met with 
from Photini Natzelhuber.” 

She opened the door, rolled the unfortunate cake down 
the stairs, flung the gracious note after it, and upon 
them the frightened footman, who, not foreseeing what 
was coming, was easily knocked off his balance by her 
powerful little wrists. Of course the countess discon- 
tinued her studies of Chopin, and the Natzelhuber can 
hardly be said to have been the gainer in the transaction. 
These Were the stupid blunders that left her soon 
without a friend or a well-wisher. Incapable of a 
mean or an ungenerous act ; incapable of uttering a 
spiteful word behind an enemy’s back, she was equal- 
ly incapable of uttering a gracious one to the face of 
a friend. The habit of recklessly indulging in vile 
language which she acquired in the streets of Athens 
never left her, and ambassadors, noblemen, artists and 
friends who momentarily offended her were never less 
than “pigs, asses,” and other such gentle and inoffen- 
sive beings. She could not help this failing any more 
than her bad temper and her passion for brandy and 
sensual pleasures of every kind. 

“ I know I am only a street vagabond mistakenly an 
artist, but I cannot help it, nor do I desire to be other- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


90 

wise,” she would say, in her clearer moments. u I 
am mad too, and that I cannot help either.” 

Deeply tragic assertions both, but not more deeply 
tragic than the wasted life and abilities of the woman 
who made them. The irritable creature, sick to death 
of Russia, sick of the perpetual and humiliating contrast 
between her condition and that of those around her, — 
a humiliation she scorned in the majesty of artistic pride 
to admit to herself, but smarted from in that vague, un- 
recognised way all feelings outside music and the 
grosser sensations stirred within her, — left St. Peters- 
burg without even sending her P. P. C. cards. 

She appeared next in Munich, now twenty-seven, at 
the height of artistic fame, only second to her master, 
able to command the best audiences and prices, with 
a European reputation for a startling perfection of 
techiiique , a grandeur of inspiration and a simplicity of 
interpretation that only goes with absolute mastery. 
Rubinstein and others had dedicated several works to 
her, and for ten years she traversed the musical world 
a splendid enigma, a blight, a shame and a sorrow. 
The possession of certain irregular passions might have 
found ample apology in her genius, but the Natzel- 
huber so degraded her art that it quite sank into abey- 
ance in the presence of her iniquities. The wonder was 
soon, not that such an artist should be so gross, but 
that such a soulless creature should possess the power 
of thrilling her hearers with every delicate perception 
of sense and harmony. As the years gathered over 
her, a curious slowness, almost a dignity of movement 
was noticeable in her. She began to awaken to the 
consciousness that the Natzelhuber was a kind of 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


9 * 

sovereign in her way, and shoul4 attract the eye and 
silence frivolous tongues by her manner of entering 
a room. She was stouter now, but carried her bulk 
well, holding her head erect and looking calmly at each 
speaker with those strange yellow eyes of hers, so lumi- 
nous under the boyish, feathery curls. But the light in 
them shone from no spirit or soul, — sensuously attrac- 
tive were they, like those of a Circe. 

Thus life found her at thirty-five, alone and friend- 
less, though the Viennese were well disposed towards 
her upon her reappearance in their midst. But she was 
too embittered and cross-grained to care greatly for 
their applause, and accepted the love Agiropoulos of- 
fered her renown rather than her wretched self, as a 
kind of feeble protection from her own society. 
Her princely disdain for money and the making 
of it left her very naturally in constant debt, and this 
state of things was hardly calculated to improve her 
temper. 

About this time young Ehrenstein came to Vienna in 
search of that distraction we are all agreed to prescribe 
in the first stage of bereavement. He knew Liszt, and 
from him procured a letter of introduction to Photini. 
Determined to make a good impression, he ordered ex- 
pensive tailoring, and w r ent forth to subdue in the ami- 
able superiority of sex and social elegance. The door 
was opened to him by an extraordinary woman, who 
held a cigarette in her hand, and glared furiously upon 
the timid Caesar who had come to see and conquer. 

“What do you want with me, young man ? I do not 
know you, and furthermore, I do not wish to know 
you. I am not at home.” 


92 


DAUGHTERS OF MEW. 


Not a reception calculated to justify a young man's 
innocent and kindly estimate of his own value. Ru- 
dolph’s heart was in his mouth, and the mildest form 
of expostulation was checked by fright and amazement. 
Meeting Agiropoulos, he disclosed his hurt, upon which 
that good-natured individual hastened to remonstrate 
with his irascible friend. 

“Why on earth did you treat poor Ehrenstein so 
badly ? ” he asked, surveying her with a look of imper- 
tinent amusement. “ Do you know, Photini, you often 
provoke a fellow into wishing you were a man that he 
might relieve his feelings by a good open fight. But now 
to quarrel or reason with a woman like you! Ouf ! You 
are impossible ! ” 

“There is the door, if you are tired of me. If not, 
stay and hold your tongue,” was the contemptuous re- 
tort, between two puffs of a cigarette. 

Agiropoulos had a certain sense of humor and a 
keen appreciation of originality in any form. He 
laughed, and proceeded to roll a cigarette in a very com- 
fortable attitude. 

“But really, my dear Photini, you were wrong to be- 
have as you did to the lad. He is a very fair dilettante. 
He has just come from Pesth, where he saw Liszt, who 
gave him a letter for you. He is wildly desirous of 
hearing you play.” 

“It is possible. He should have said so. How was 
I to know that Franz Liszt would send me a yellow- 
headed girl in trousers ? ” 

“But you did not give him time to say anything. 
You never do.” 

“Nobody ever has anything to say that is worth 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


93 

listening to. Poh, Poh, Poh ! The silliness of men and 
the weariness of life! Tell the fool he can come to- 
morrow, and I'll undertake not to eat him. ” 

“He will be delighted to receive such satisfactory, 
and, on the whole, rather necessary reassurance. 
His nature is so knightly that upon no consideration, 
even the fear of offering himself as a meal, would he 
dream of refusing to obey a lady’s mandate. And 
after his adventure of yesterday, it is natural to suppose 
that he would view compliance to-morrow with con- 
siderable trepidation of the possible results. By the 
way, Photini, I am going to Athens in the morning.” 

He looked at her tranquilly, quite prepared for an 
explosion. She flung away her cigarette, glanced a 
him just as serenely, and said : — 

“So ! Then I will follow you.” 

“That is kinder than anything I had dared to hope 
from you, Photini,” said Agiropoulos, gracefully. 
“Then you care for me enough to disturb yourself on 
my account.” 

The Natzelhuber lighted another cigarette, puffed 
silently awhile, and fixed her lover with her steady 
imperturbable gaze. 

“ Don’t flatter yourself, my dear fellow! I never dis- 
turb myself for any one, but I am sick of Vienna.” 

“It strikes me, my excellent friend, you are sick of 
most places in an incredibly short space of time,” said 
Agiropoulos, sarcastically, nettled by the coolness, of 
which he wanted a monopoly. 

“Possibly.” 

“I hope you will be civil to Ehrenstein to-morrow. 
Play him the ‘Melodies Hongroises.’ His mother 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


94 

was a Hungarian, and he adored her. The ‘ Melodies’ 
will send him into Paradise.” 

“ I am not conscious of a desire to procure him that 
happiness. What the devil do I care about his mother 
or himself? Either the fellow knows music or he 
doesn’t. ” 

Agiropoulos was speeding on his way to Athens 
while Rudolph was sitting in the Natzelhuber’s unde- 
corated parlor, listening to the magic “Melodies Hon. 
groises,” wherein enchanting dance and melody spring 
exultingly out of subtle waves of variation, their im- 
petuous joy broken suddenly by sharp notes of pathos 
and vague yearning. Music so gloriously rendered 
thrilled him into instantaneous love, and his soul was 
lost irretrievably in exquisite sound. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


95 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE RESULT OF THE BARON’S ADVICE. 

It was the eve of Madame Jarovisky's ball, and 
nearly a week had elapsed since Rudolph Ehrenstein 
had permitted himself the painful pleasure of a visit to 
Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. He was young and im- 
pressionable enough for a week to work a rapid change 
in him under novel circumstances. He mixed freely 
in the distinguished diplomatic circles of Athens, had 
been with the Mowbray Thomases to Tatoi, played 
cricket with Vincent, whose English-French was a 
source of piquant amusement to him, his own being 
irreproachable, played tennis and drank tea with the 
rowdy American girls his aunt disapproved of, and was 
accompanied by Miss Emeraude Veritassi when he 
charmed a small audience with Raffs Cavatina. The 
Baron von Hohenfels expressed himself delighted with 
his nephew's success, praised his air of distinction and 
reserve, wished him a little less shy, however, and im- 
plored him to cultivate the virtues of tobacco. 

“ It gives a man a certain tone to be able to appreciate 
a good cigar/’ he explained, airily. “You are improv- 
ing undoubtedly. Your behaviour with Mademoiselle 
Veritassi last night was quite pretty and gallant. I may 
mention, Rudolph, that neither your aunt nor I have any 
objection to Emeraude Veritassi. Her style is good, 


DAUGHTERS OR MEM 


96 

and her French — well, should you think of diplomacy 
by and bye, you would have no reason to be ashamed 
of it. She is about the only Greek girl I know who 
looks as if she had been brought up in Paris. Yes, by 
all means cultivate her, if you are disposed that way, 
though perhaps it would be wiser to choose your wife 
at home.” 

Rudolph blushed and smiled pleasantly. 

“Is it not rather premature to talk of marriage for 
me, uncle?” he asked, quizzically. 

“Quite so. Still, it is possible for a fellow at your 
age to get disagreeably entangled, and a respectable 
marriage, you know, is always preferable to that. 
Amuse yourself, by all means ; I would not restrict you 
in that line. You must be a man of the world, and 
gallantry is the very finest education. As I said before, 
in the regular way, there is no objection to Mademoiselle 
Veritassi, but for all irregular purposes, stick to the 
married women, my dear boy. Become a favourite 
with them, and study an attitude of delicate audacity, 
a kind of playful rouerie.” 

All this was Hebrew to Rudolph, but he took care 
not to press his uncle for an explanation. Instead, he 
went upstairs, and donned attire less ostentatious and 
theatrical than the forest coat and long boots. In a 
faultless suit of navy-blue he was seen an hour later 
upon the Patissia Road walking towards the Platea 
Omonia, and a brisk pace brought him to Photini's door. 
It was opened by Polyxena, as rough and untidy as 
ever, who jerked her thumb towards the stairs, and 
growled : — 

“ You’ll find her upstairs.” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


97 

Rudolph's heart beat apphrehensively as he slowly 
mounted and knocked outside Photini's door, which he 
opened gingerly after a loud “ come in 

‘‘Oh, it is you ! " the Natzelhuber exclaimed, more 
graciously than usual. ‘ ‘ I thought it was that fool come 
for her lesson. Sit down, and let me look at you." 

Rudolph obeyed and smiled enigmatically, as he 
steadily met her lambent gaze. 

“What have you been doing with yourself since I 
saw you?" she demanded, imperiously. 

“Nothing in particular," said Rudolph. 

“ Humph ! Your face does not show that." 

“May I ask what it shows to your glance of inves- 
tigation ? " 

“You are growing impertinent and fatuous. Have 
you been studying the excellent style of our friend 
Agiropoulos ? " 

Rudolph drew himself up proudly. He, a high bred 
Austrian, to be compared with a vulgar Greek merchant ! 
He drew his aristocratic brows into an angry frown, 
and raised an irreproachable hand to his fair moustache : 

“I cannot think that anything in me could remind 
you of Monsieur Agiropoulos." 

Photini came over, and stood in front of him with 
folded arms, calmly surveying him ; then she leant for- 
ward, and placed her hands on his shoulders, laughing. 

“They have doubtless been telling you what a fine 
fellow you are, and, my dear child, they have been tell- 
ing you a most infernal lie." 

Rudolph burst out laughing, and took her two hands 
into his, which he held in a gentle clasp. 

“Mademoiselle, you are a very extraordinary woman. 

7 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


98 

Some people might say you are rude. I hardly think 
the word applies to you. I don’t know what you are. 

“ Mad,” said Photini, drawing him to her and kissing 
him. 

Rudolph went red and white, and started back as if 
he had been shot. No woman, except his mother, had 
ever kissed him, and the experience coming to him thus, 
suddenly and unsought, filled him with an inexplicable 
anger and pain. Without a word Photini walked straight 
to the piano, and the silence waved into the unfathom- 
able loveliness of Chopin’s “Barcarolle.” 

It was a perfect apology. It must be confessed, this 
woman so dreadful of speech was delicately cognisant 
of the language of the soul. Had she been playing for 
a lover, she could not have done better. But she was 
scarcely conscious of love for Rudolph. Her thirty-five 
years of wretched hilarity and miserable sadness had 
left her heart untouched until now, but she was too 
proud to acknowledge even to herself the steadily grow- 
ing interest and yearning awakened in her by the inno- 
cent eyes of a lad, and while she played she resolutely 
kept her face averted from Rudolph’s. So she saw 
nothing of the varying emotions that swept across it as 
the notes at her magic touch rose and fell. First his eyes 
closed, then opened and rested upon her profile eagerly ; 
a feverish red burnt in his cheeks, and his breath came 
hurriedly. A sense of ecstasy oppressed him, and he 
drew near her as if impelled by a force independent of 
his control. She looked up, and saw that his eyes were 
wet, and he burst out : — 

“ Oh, it is dreadful, I can’t bear it, but I love you ! ” 

Before she could make answer to this unflattering 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


99 

and anguished declaration, the door opened, and 
Andromache Karapolos stood upon the threshold. 
Rudolph moved hastily back, and met her glance of 
pleased surprise with one of almost passionate gratitude. 
The spell and its compelling influences had ceased with 
Photini’s last note, and now he was only dreading 
the consequences of his insane avowal, and patiently 
awaited the inevitable scene. 

But for the first time in her life, Photini showed an 
amiable front to an intruder. She looked gently at 
Andromache, turned with a commanding gesture to 
Rudolph, and stood for the girl to take her place at the 
piano. Though wishing to escape, Rudolph felt that 
the words he had just uttered laid him under a new 
obligation of obedience, and he went and stood at the 
window, with his forehead pressed dejectedly against 
the pane, looking down on the bright street, while he 
speculated drearily on what was going to happen to him. 

Andromache’s slim brown fingers ran swiftly up and 
down the piano several times before a word was 
uttered. Photini watched them attentively, and then 
said, very graciously : 

“That is much better. But your thumb is still too 
exposed, and you sway your body too much. You are 
not supposed to play from the waist. You must give 
another week to scales, and then we’ll see about exer- 
cises.” 

Andromache rose, and said her brother was waiting 
downstairs for her. Rudolph looked round at the sound 
of her voice, and thought her prettier than before. 

“ Why, Mademoiselle Veritassi would seem plain 
beside her,” he said to himself, but his fastidious eyes, 


100 


DAUGHTERS OF MEW. 


running over her dress found it common and ill-cut. 

The March-violet eyes rested a moment on his, and 
were lovely indeed by charm of dewy freshness and 
girlish timidity. Andromache blushed to the roots of 
her hair, and the blush was reflected on the young 
man’s face. 

In her nervous tremour she dropped one of her gloves, 
which he hastened to pick up, and when he handed it 
to her, they exchanged another glance of mutual ad-, 
miration, and blushed again more eloquently than be- 
fore. This short pantomime of two susceptible young 
creatures was unheeded by Photini, who was tranquilly 
lighting a cigarette, and when Andromache with a 
low inclusive bow and a soft “KciXt/Vyx <ras,” departed, 
Rudolph stood in silence at the window to catch 
a glimpse of her down the street. He saw her cross 
in the direction of the Academy with a tall military 
man, in whose black uniform and crimson velvet collar, 
he recognized an artillery officer. For some foolish un- 
defined reason he rejoiced in this evidence of respect- 
ability in her brother. 

‘‘My dear child,” Photini began, when they were 
alone, “you made a fool of yourself a moment ago. 
It is possible folly is your normal condition, — I believe 
it is so with men of your stamp, but there are degrees, 
and you passed the limitations when you made a very 
uncomplimentary and absurd declaration to me just 
now.” 

She paused to continue smoking. Rudolph breathed 
a sigh of relief to find he was not taken seriously, and 
felt himself a cad for that very reason. What right has 
a man to trifle with such emotions, and then rejoice 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


IOI 


that he is not taken seriously ? Such inconsequence 
is surely unworthy a gentleman. He stared at her 
humbly and imploringly. 

“See the advantages of smoking ! One can hold one’s 
tongue,” Photini went on, serenely. ‘ * And now, please 
remember that I am an ugly woman of thirty-five, and 
you a handsome boy of twenty-one. I am old in evil 
knowledge, you still in the shade of innocence, a very 
pleasing shade as long as young men can be got to 
remain in it. You are an aristocrat, and I am a woman 
of the people. You perceive, Ehrenstein, that we have 
nothing in common, and now, go about your business. 
I have had more than enough of you.” 

“Photini,” he protested, touched by her brusque mag- 
nanimity, “I Jiave perhaps failed as a gentleman, but 
it is true, I can’t help loving you, though I admit that 
nothing but sorrow can come of such love.” 

“No, you don’t love me, you love my music. In 
heaven’s name, don’t make a fool of yourself,” she 
roared. 

“But don't you want me to come again, Photini ? ” 

“ No, I don’t. Why should I ? ” 

“Is it possible to care for me a little ?” he asked, 
sulkily. 

“ You silly jackanapes ! Why do you imagine I care 
for you ? ” 

“Because you kissed me/' Rudolph jerked out 
boldly. 

“And what if I did? There, I’ll kiss you again, 
and swear I don’t care a rap for you,” she cried, half- 
laughing, and gathering his head into her hands, she 
kissed his lips repeatedly. “Now be off, and don't let 


102 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN , . 


me see you come whimpering or stamping about this 
neighbourhood again.” 

She pushed him firmly out of the room, and fero- 
ciously slammed the door after him. When she was 
alone, she flung up her arms spasmodically, and 
cried : — 

“Ouf! the fool ! I’ve saved him, and I believe he 
is grateful to me. Poor Photini ! You ugly, forsaken 
old soul, to love a yellow-headed boy at your time of 
life, with nothing in the world to recommend him, not 
even his stupid yellow head. ” With that she poured 
herself out a generous glass of brandy, and drank it off 
at a draught. 

Poor Photini ! 

That afternoon Ehrenstein met th» Greek poet in 
Stadion Street, and they turned and walked together 
towards Constitution Square, where they sat down at 
one of the numerous tables outside the Cafes and drank 
black coffee. Captain Miltiades passed, looking more 
military and more fierce than ever, twirling a ferocious 
moustache and roving a killing dark blue eye in search 
of feminine victims. He stopped to exchange a few 
words with the Greek poet, and was introduced to 
Rudolph. 

“Has he not a very pretty sister who is taking 
lessons from Mademoiselle Natzelhuber? '* Rudolph 
asked, afterwards. 

“Who? Karapolos? I never heard of a sister. I 
always thought he was an antique orphan. No one 
knows where he lives. He is the most abominable 
fraud in Athens, — a kind of military clown, but a brave 
soldiei for all that, in spite of his blagues *' 


■DA UGHTEKS OF MEN. 


103 


CHAPTER IX. 

MADAME JAROVISKY’S BALL. 

It was a mystery to the Karapolos how Madame 
Jarovisky had discovered the existence of Andromache. 
It was customary for her to invite the glorious and 
elegant warrior, with whom she had formed pleasing 
relations at the Palace entertainments. Besides, Hadji 
Adam, the King s aide-de-camp and the very particular 
friend of Captain Miltiades, generally stipulated that 
his heroic comrade should have the right of entrance 
into all the distinguished houses of Athens. But even 
Hadji Adam knew nothing about his family, and how 
did it come that the Desposine Andromache Karapolos 
received a card of invitation for Madame Jarovisky's 
great ball given in honour of an English Cabinet Min- 
ister? Julia the elder was not invited, nor was little 
Themistocles, the bank clerk. Another remarkable 
circumstance was the lateness of the invitation. It 
came on the eve of the ball. Andromache’s mother and 
Julia were strongly of opinion that no notice^should be 
taken of an attention conveyed with such strange dis- 
courtesy. They did not know Madame Jarovisky, and 
no chaperon had been invited to accompany the younger 
Miss Karapolos. But Andromache was wild with desire 
to go. She had often glanced in marvelling admiration 


104 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


at the Jarovisky palace of marble and statues and 
colonnades, though she was virtuous enough to lower 
her eyes before the undraped statues of the terrace 
which she regarded as scandalous. And now that the 
chance of entering its bronzed gates and seeing the 
glories of its interior was presented to her, she was 
passionately resolved to go. Miltiades was fond of 
Andromache, and was easily persuaded into second- 
ing her resolution. The head of the house is chaperon 
enough for any girl, he explained to his weak mother, 
and it was probably through Mademoiselle Natzelhuber 
that Madame Jarovisky had learned of Andromache’s 
existence, which accounted for the lateness of the invi- 
tation. 

So it was decided that Andromache should go. The 
excitement put Maria into a good humour, and she was 
heard to sing, while starching and ironing white petti- 
coats, the Captain’s evening shirt and lace bodices. A 
little dressmaker was hired for the day, who at break- 
fast sat opposite the warlike Miltiades, and blushed 
when Themistocles filled- her glass with wine. Every- 
one laughed and spoke together at table, except the 
dressmaker and Themistocles, who regarded it as a 
personal slight that he had not been included in the 
invitation, and this insult added to the thought of the 
forbidden paradise in the next street, more than ever 
convinced him that there was nothing for him but to 
emigrate to England. After breakfast, instead of 
showing himself upon Constitution Square, he retired 
into his own room, and his violin dismally expressed 
his dissatisfaction in asthmatic strains supposed to be 
Schubert’s. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


105 

Then what running about for the women, what 
screaming of reiterated explanations, hysterical adjura- 
tions, differences of opinion as to the looping of a 
flounce, the draping of a fold, the selection of a ribbon 
or a flower ! Maria was, of course, president of the 
house-parliament ; though her vision was frequently 
impeded by the tangled locks of hair she found it so 
difficult to keep out of her black eyes. But the warmest 
discussion has its end, and all longed-for hours even- 
tually arrive. When Themistocles arrived for dinner, 
he found he was the only person insufficiently nourished 
upon the day s excitement. Theodore ministered to 
his wants, while all the women were in the girls’ 
chamber robing Andromache. 

Very pretty she looked when dressed in cream muslin 
striped with silk, — an exquisitely soft and dainty texture 
made at the Ergasterion of Athens — trimmed with bows 
of crimson ribbon and charming Greek lace. Her 
costume was inexpensive, and looked home-made, but 
its very guilelessness was an effective setting to her 
extreme youth and simplicity. A Greek girl, whatever 
her deficiencies, is never awkward or vulgar, and the 
only suggestion Miltiades could offer in the way of 
improvement, when he examined her critically, was 
the brushing off of some of the powder which marred 
the fine olive of her face. Miltiades himself was resplend- 
ent in his full-dress uniform, his grande tenue. More 
than ever did he resemble the mythical slaughterer of 
those five thousand wretched Turks ; and such smiling 
and satisfied glory as his was calculated to depress and 
fill with alarm the breast of the Sultan himself. 

Andromache was muffled in a woollen shawl, and 


1 0 6 DA UGHTERS OF MEN 

taking the arm of her gallant escort, they went out into 
the cold blue air. They walked gingerly down the 
slanting and unpaved street, dreading to splash their 
evening shoes in the running streams over which they 
were obliged to jump every time a fresh street broke 
theirs horizontally. When they reached the even pave- 
ment of University Street, behind Hansen’s lovely 
marble Academy, outlined sharply against the pure 
dark sky above the perfumed patch of foliage and 
flowers between it and the University, their footsteps 
rang out with a loud echo, Andromache’s high heels 
tapping the stones aggressively. Already a line of 
carriages was drawn up outside the Jarovisky’s palace. 
It was the largest ball given at Athens for years. 
Every one who was not in mourning was there, and 
most people who were. 

Dr. and Madame Jarovisky received then guests at 
the head of the chill and magnificent hall. When 
Miltiades appeared, Dr. Jarovisky shook his hand most 
cordially and asked after his wife and children, shook 
hands with Andromache, and remarked that he never 
saw her looking so well, and was delighted to renew 
his acquaintance with her. Miltiades telegraphed her a 
glance of warning against any expression of surprise, 
and explained to her afterwards that Dr. Jarovisky never 
remembered any of his guests. Madame Jarovisky 
feebly expressed the pleasure it gave her to see Miss 
Andromache Karapolos, and hoped she would enjoy 
herself. 

The rooms were crowded, but in spite of heavy per- 
fumes and laughter and light, they were freezingly cold, 
built as they were of marble, with porphyry pillars and 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


107 

mosaic floors. Andromache shivered a little, and 
looked anxiously around while her brother twirled his 
moustache, and beamed a fatuous smile upon the 
groups he swiftly scanned. 

“See, Miltiades, there is Hadji Adam flirting with 
Madame von Hohenfels. How handsome he is ! and 
how distinguished she.” 

“Madame von Hohenfels is what the French call 
grande dame. I was introduced to her nephew yester- 
day. He is a very pretty fellow. I daresay he is 
somewhere about.” 

They entered another room, and here Andromache’s 
quick glance singled out a noticeable group of laughing 
and chattering young persons. Mademoiselle Emer- 
aude Veritassi, beautifully arrayed in costly glory from 
Worth, was its centre, and round her hovered or buzzed 
like bees, Miss Mary and Master John Perpignani, 
Agiropoulos, the Greek poet, the young ladies of the 
American Legation, Ehrenstein and Vincent Mowbray 
Thomas. At that moment Rudolph happened to look 
round and met the March-violet eyes, bewitching in 
the eloquent delight of recognition. She blushed 
prettily, and an answering blush asserted sympathy on 
his boyish face. He broke away from the gay crowd, 
and saluted Captain Karapolos with insinuating cor- 
diality. 

If there is a thing the Greek has, at all hours, and in 
all places, at the disposal of his fellow-man, it is his 
hand. He shakes hands at every possible pretext, or 
he embraces. How he would express himself if that 
method of greeting were suddenly suppressed by act of 
Parliament, it is not for me to say, but I imagine he 


o8 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


would pay a fine rather than forego the habit. Miltiades, 
after a jaunty military salute, of which he was equally 
profuse, held out a white-gloved hand, and then stood 
with the other grace fully reposing on his hip to dis- 
course to Rudolph in unintelligible French. 

“Vousetes bien, Monsieur,” he began cheerfully. 

“Mais oui,” responded Rudolph, smiling at Androm- 
ache to whom he bowed deferentially. “ Est-ce que 
vous voudriez bien me presenter a Mademoiselle votre 
soeur ? ” 

“Monsieur Rudoph Ehrenstein ; Andromache — ma 
soeur,” said Karapolos, with a flourish, and then dis- 
covered that he had come to an end of his French. He 
smiled largely, and his teeth and handsome eyes, so like 
his sister's, did duty for speech. 

And while he was ogling Miss Mary Perpignani, to 
whose satisfactory dowry he aspired, audacious Ru- 
dolph had asked and obtained Andromache’s first quad- 
rille, and furthermore secured her for the cotillon, which, 
of course, Miltiades would conduct according to custom, 

“.Vous me ferez rhonneur, Monsieur, de me confier 
Mademoiselle votre soeur?” Rudolph asked. 

“ Certainement,” assented Karapolos, delighted at the 
unexpected remembrance of a new word. “Je — je, 
comment — tell him, Andromache, I want to dance my- 
self,” he burst out in Greek. 

Andromache translated his wish, and as she spoke, 
with an expression of shy and charming deprecation, 
dark and light blue eyes held each other in fascinated 
gaze. Rudolph’s heart, as fresh and innocent as hers, 
began to comport itself in a very irregular fashion, and 
his frame thrilled under a sense of exquisite emotion. 


daughters of men. 


109 

Her French was a little halting, and he was obliged to 
choose the easiest words for her, but how pleasant it 
was to hear her speak ? The dancers were taking their 
places for the first quadrille, and Rudolph offered An- 
dromache his arm. He reddened with pleasure when he 
looked down and saw her little hand in a white silk glove 
on his coat sleeve. From that moment he thought silk 
much prettier than Suede or kid. There was something 
birdlike and irresponsible in the awakening passion of 
these two young creatures. Neither dreamed of strug- 
gling against it or of consequences, but simply fluttered 
towards each other with lovely glances of sympathy and 
candid admiration. 

The Baroness von Hohenfels, talking to the Right 
Honourable Samuel Warren, M. P., raised her gold face 
a main to scrutinise the dancers casually, and saw her 
nephew with his dowdy and much too pretty partner. 
She frowned a little, noting how completely absorbed 
he was and on what an intimate footing the young pair 
already appeared to be, and looked round in search of 
Mademoiselle Veritassi, whom she saw dancing with 
the amiable Agiropoulos. She beckoned imperiously to 
her husband, who obediently left the side of the English 
Minister’s wife, and courteously begged to be enlight- 
ened as to the cause of her signal. 

“Who is that girl Rudolph is dancing with? ” 

“ You surely don’t expect to find me posted up in the 
names and parentage of all the young ladies of Athens ? 
laughed the easy baron, looking round. 

“ Have you eyes in your head? Can’t you see that 
they are flirting?”’ protested the baroness. 

“ He certainly is greatly taken up with her. I fear, my 


no 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


dear, instead of being the muff I believed him, your 
nephew is an inveterate flirt. But I’ll inquire about 
her. ” 

The baron went back to Mrs. Mowbray Thomas, 
and the popular poet passing, the baroness touched his 
arm with her fan, and smiled him an arch invitation. 

“M. Michaelopoulos,” she asked, taking his arm, 
“you know everybody in Athens, don’t you?” 

The poet modestly deprecated any such pretension. 

“Well, at least you can tell me who that exceedingly 
attractive young lady is my nephew is dancing with.” 

The poet glanced down the room and singled out the 
couple. 

It was impossible for the dullest observer to mistake 
the language of eyes that constantly dwelt on each other, 
and the foolish alacrity with which their hands met and 
clasped in the decorous dance. 

“To my eternal desolation, Madame la Baronne, I 
must admit my ignorance. The young lady is, as you 
observe, charming — a little provincial, perhaps, clearly 
not of our world, but charming, very charming. I en- 
treat you, Madame, to note the naivete and candour of 
her — how shall we name it ? entrainement ? the first pres- 
sure of the dangerous influence upon tranquil maidenly 
pulses.” 

“ Confine yourself to prose, my friend, for the mo- 
ment, and if you obey me, discover for me her parent- 
age, position, etc.” 

“ Madame has to command, and I fly to obey her. 

I conjecture Monsieur Ehrenstein’s latest flame to be a 
little impossible Athenian, living the Gods know where 
and how.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


Ill 


“ Latest?” cried the baroness, with a look of dis- 
pleased inquiry. 

“ Ah ! it is to see that Madame’s great mind soars in 
the empyrean of diplomatic considerations or upon 
ground more ethereal still. Her delicate ears do not 
catch an echo of the vulgar gossip upon which grosser 
ears are fed/’ 

“ I have requested you, M. Michaelopoulos, to dis- 
course to me in prose. What is the vulgar gossip you 
refer to ? ” 

The poet looked chill, and said, with brutal directness : 

“My faith! Madame, your interesting nephew is 
thought to be the lover of that dainty morsel of woman- 
hood, the Natzelhuber.” 

Madame von Hohenfels frowned, and then laughed. 

“You forget, Rudolph is noble/’ 

“ I have not remarked that nobility is specially fasti- 
dious in such matters. Women ! Well, that is frankly 
a department in which there is no accounting for tastes, 
and good blood shows as pretty an eccentricity as any 
other/’ 

The English statesman was approaching, and the poet 
walked away with an expression of countenance clearly 
indicating an intention to remember the baroness’s snub. 
The dance was over, and in the pause which ensued, 
Madame Jarovisky, mindful of Rudolph’s information 
that Andromache was a very promising pupil of Ma- 
demoiselle Natzelhuber, politely requested her to favour 
the company with a specimen of her powers. 

“Your mistress has not yet arrived,” she added by 
way of encouragement, “and you can take advan- 
tage of her absence.” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


1 1 2 

Rudolph warmly seconded Madame Jarovisky, and 
thus flatteringly besought, Andromache suffered herself 
"to be led by the young Austrian to the grand piano. 
At first she was terribly nervous, and the notes faltered 
and shook unsteadily beneath her fingers, but discover- 
ing that small attention was really paid to her, and 
drinking in courage and nerve from Rudolph’s pleasant 
glances of admiration, she gradually acquired a firmer 
touch, and played fairly well, with brilliancy and just 
expression, a dance of Rubinstein’s. She was more than 
half-way through her performance, when a whisper ran 
through the rooms : — “ The Natzelhuber ! ” 

The Cabinet Minister immediately adjusted his eye- 
glass, and held his sharp, heaven-aspiring nose in a 
beatific pose that denoted an expectation of diversion. 
Madame von Hohenfels smiled blandly, well pleased 
that somebody else should have the onerous charge and 
torture of entertaining the great woman. Photini was 
marshalled fussily up the room by anxious little Dr. 
Jarovisky, himself a blaze of medals and decorations, 
while his wife advanced with an air of pathetic depre- 
cation and prayer, as if by such feeble weapons the 
thunder of this female Jove might best be averted. 
Phontini did not meet her hand, but just glanced at her 
in calm disdain, and nodded a serene, impersonal and 
inclusive gaze around, walked to a distant mantelpiece 
and placidly took her stand there. 

“ Who is that playing?” she asked of Dr. Jarovisky. 

“ Really, Mademoiselle, I— I— but wait, I will ask 
my wife,” the doctor hastened to say, and in his hurry 
to satisfy the inexorable artist, stumbled over a half dozen 
chairs and guests before he reached his perturbed wife. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


"3 

“Calliope, she wants to know who is playing? ” 

“A pupil of hers — Andromache Karapolos,” said 
Calliope. 

Dr. Jarovisky stumbled back in the same awkward 
and nervous fashion, and said, excitedly : 

“You will be charmed, I am sure, Mademoiselle, to 
learn that the young lady who is delighting us all is a 
pupil of yours.'’ 

“A pupil of mine, sir ?" interrogated Photini, imperi- 
ously. 

“Mais, oui, ja, ja, Naf,” cried Dr. Jarovisky, in his 
fright exploding into a multiplicity of tongues. “ A Des- 
posine Andromache Karapolos,” and he smiled plead- 
ingly. 

“Oh, indeed,” said Photini, with that desperate calm 
of hers that invariably preluded a thunderstorm. 

She rose, and followed by her shaken host, walked 
slowly down the room with the face of a sphinx. When 
she came near the piano, Rudolph looked up, saw her, 
bowed and smiled in anxious conciliation. She neither 
returned his bow nor his smile, but came behind An- 
dromache, and deliberately dealt that inoffensive 
maiden a sound box on the ear. 

“May I ask who gave you leave to murder Rubin- 
stein for the benefit of a lot of idiots worse than your- 
self ? ” she cried. 

Pressing her palm to the outraged cheek, now crim- 
son from the blow, Andromache turned round with a 
face held between indignation and shocked fear. Her 
tongue refused to give voice to the piteous words that 
rushed to it, and tears of wounded pride and shame 
drowned the March violets. 

8 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


114 

“C’est trop fort, Mademoiselle,” Rudolph exclaimed, 
with a flame of masterful passion in his eyes. 

“Vraiment?” retorted Photini, coolly. “ Occupez- 
vous de vos affaires, Monsieur, et laissez les miennes,” 
and the utter vileness of her accent seriously imper- 
illed the dignity of her speech and deportment. “ As 
for you,” she continued in Greek, turning to Andromache, 
“ you will be so good as to leave Rubinstein, Ehrenstein 
and every other 'stein alone, and content yourself with 
scales and exercises for the next year.” 

In spite of her cruel and inadmissible behaviour, it 
was impossible not to feel some sympathy with the just 
anger of a severe and conscientious artist, though one 
naturally wished it had sought a less explosive outlet ; 
and it was equally impossible not to recognise that such 
severity, in more measured and human form, is very 
salutary for the inefficient and abnormally rash young 
amateur. But of course all direct sympathy was for the 
moment concentrated on poor Andromache. Rudolph 
followed her, looking like a quarrelsome knight, as he 
stood guard over insulted girlhood, until her brother 
rushed forward to carry her home ; and swore to him- 
self, with petulant emphasis, that never again would he 
address a word of civility to the woman he mentally 
apostrophised as a monster and a fiend. 

“Ne pleurez pas, Mademoiselle,” he cried, feverishly. 
“C’est qui doit avoir honte. Pour vous, vous devez la 
mepriser. Dieu sait si vous en avez le droit.” 

“ Laissez-moi, Monsieur. Je ne puis rien dire,” said 
Andromache in a choking voice, and seeing Miltiades 
coming towards her with a furious stride and the kind 
of look he must have worn when he sent those five 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


”5 

thousand Turks to Paradise, she rushed to him and 
gathered her fingers round his arm convulsively. But 
a warrior and hero like Miltiades could not expect to 
appreciate the dignity of a pacific departure. With his 
sister upon his arm he walked to the spot where Pho- 
tini was seated, listening to the bantering expostulations 
of Agiropoulos leaning over the back of her chair. She 
looked impassively at the angry face of the captain, 
then at the shamed and drooping head of Andromache, 
but said nothing. 

“ Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber,” said Miltiades, 
with a curt bow, “ I have the honour to announce to 
you that my sister will in future discontinue her music 
lessons. ” 

“And what difference do you think that will make to 
me? ” retorted Photini. “ It will be her loss.” 

“ If you were a man I should know how to deal with 
you. But as you are only a woman, I can but despise 
you.” 

“ If it gives you any satisfaction, I am happy to have 
afforded you the occasion.” 

With this little passage of arms, in which Miltiades 
may be said to have come off second best, the Captain 
and his sister retreated, proudly stopping to receive the 
apologies of Madame and Dr. Jarovisky, and left the 
field to the enemy. 

“A very curious scene indeed,” remarked the Right 
Honourable Samuel Warren, M. P., to Mrs. Mowbray 
Thomas. “It is most refreshing to obtain these pictu- 
resque glimpses of foreign manners.” 

“They’ll have to drop asking that woman into soci- 
ety,” said the English Ambassador. “She is downright 
dangerous. I never heard of such a thing in my life — - 


ii 6 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


striking a pretty, inoffensive girl in a drawing-room. ” 

“We are perhaps a little insular and restricted, and 
our drawing-room life is insufficiently supplied with ex- 
citement and surprise,” rejoined the Cabinet Minister. 

It was some time before the guests fell into the ordi- 
nary social groove. Whether they danced, or chatted, 
or walked about, they managed to keep a careful and 
apprehensive eye upon the artist who had so unex- 
pectedly upset the universal equilibrium. But Photini 
tranquilly ate the ice Agiropoulos brought her, indiffer- 
ent to the general gaze fixed thus upon her, called for a 
glass of cognac, and then, with a look of bland defiance 
at Rudolph, who stood leaning sulkily against the wall, 
announced her intention of playing once only, and then 
taking her departure. Rudolph neither heeded the pur- 
port of her movement nor the direct challenge of her 
amber glance. His thoughts were away with Androm- 
ache, telling him that she was prettier and sweeter 
than any one in these crowded rooms, wondering if she 
were crying, and resolving to meet her brother some- 
where the next day and to obtain permission to call on 
her. Photini he simply loathed. 

But ah ! good heavens, what a horrible test of his 
hatred ! There was that tantalising witch actually 
playing at him the fatal irresistible “Melodies Hon- 
groises.” He closed his eyes, not to be tempted to look 
at her with softened emotion ; steeled his heart against 
her that it should not melt upon such sound ; but he did 
not shut his ears. And when their eyes met perforce, 
there was no longer anger in his, and there was tri- 
umph in hers. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


ii 7 


CHAPTER X. 

A RANDOM SHOT. 

Dr. Selaka was a proud and hopeful man on the morn- 
ing he saw Gustav Reineke depart for Syra, in charge of 
the amiable captain of the Sphacteria. On his return from 
the Piraeus, where he had bidden him farewell, he be- 
thought himself of the duty of inquiring into the iden- 
tity of this mysterious personage. He consulted Dr. 
Galenides, who in turn consulted the German Consul 
and was referred then to the Baron von Hohenfels. 
Herr Gustav Reineke was vaguely known upon learned 
repute,' but of his antecedents, parentage, means, and 
social and domestic condition, no information could be 
accurately obtained. Assertion was winged upon sur- 
mise, a very untenable resource with foreigners. There 
might be a Frau Reineke and a domestic circle in the 
background, and there might not. Of shadier relations 
no note was taken. In olden days, we know, science 
went hand in hand with sharp poverty — clearly an un- 
desirable sequel to Inarime’s protected girlhood. With 
such a possibility ahead, Dr. Selaka recognised the rash- 
ness of arresting the eye of hope upon this particular 
marriage, despite the depressing reflection that his 
maniacal brother would infinitely prefer to support an 
archaeological son-in-law, than see Inarime gracefully 


n8 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


enthroned above Athenian matrons, a jewel in solid, 
unlearned gold. 

“Stavros is right. Better have the girl up to Athens, 
and play her beauty upon the susceptibilities of our 
friend Mingros.” But it was a minor question. His 
attention was engrossed by parliamentary strife and the 
coming election. This was but the preliminary of 
ministerial glory. Place him upon the tribune, Hellas 
would shake with the thunder of his voice, and Europe 
hold down her abashed head in the face of a violated 
Treaty of Berlin, and an unenlarged Greek frontier. 
He mentally apostrophised Europe, and fell to speaking 
of himself, and gesticulating wildly, as he walked from 
the station in Hermes Street to inspect the new house 
he was building close to the Queen’s Hospital. The 
work was progressing fairly, and as he made a bid for 
luck by sacrificing a cock before the first stone was laid, 
he felt healthily free from apprehensions of any sort. 
Dr. Galenides was doming out of the Hospital as he 
turned to go, and the friends stopped to discuss the 
situation. 

“Stavros grows more irrepressible,” said Dr. Ga- 
lenides, with a curious smile. 1 ‘ He wields his pen not 
as a sword but as a whip to lash us all, friends and 
enemies.” 

“All bluster. He likes to be thought volcanic,” 
laughed Selaka, easily. 

“ Perhaps he has no objection to a reputation a trifle 
more serious,” Galenides suggested, with a look ostensi- 
bly blank. 

Dr. Selaka glanced sharply round at him. 

“ Do you distrust him ? ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN . 


1 r 9 

“ It is a wise saying — trust nobody. We are all liable 
to change. ” 

“What change do you foresee in Stavros?” 

“A change you will hardly appreciate, ” Dr. Gaten- 
ides replied, shutting up his lips with a secretive air. 

“ Turncoat? ” 

“Well, well, report speaks queerly at times. Had 
you been wise, you would have hesitated to compromise 
yourself upon pressure of his. But it is customary for 
monarchs to yield to the blandishments of their minis- 
ters. This understanding is the basis of the throne. 
Yours, my friend, is not stable/’ 

“You forget that I am a monarch of a realm that 
knows neither ministry nor change. By the way, I 
sent that young man off to Tenos to-day.” 

“ That’s another bold stroke. You are too fond of 
random shots. Beware of bringing down the wrong 
bird. ” 

Selaka flushed darkly, and frowned in a threatening 
manner. 

“You have the merit of making yourself understood.” 

“I always endeavour to do so, Constantine. Good- 
bye, before we quarrel. Come and dine with me this 
evening.” 

The doctors shook hands perfunctorily. Selaka was 
profoundly troubled by these hints against the political 
constancy of his friend and adviser. He had sagacity 
enough to believe that Galenides would not speak with- 
out some justification for his doubts. It was widely 
known that Galenides was in the confidence of the 
Minister. Zeus ! Could Oidas have bought him over ? 

He kept a keen lookout for any casual evidence of 


120 


DAUGHTERS 0E MEN. 


disloyalty or coldness. For some days depression lay 
heavily on his spirits, and a telegram from Pericles 
announcing the safe arrival of the stranger, only tem- 
porarily lifted the gloom. 

The week was spent in canvassing on his own ac- 
count, and everywhere he met with proofs of his fol- 
lower’s remissness on his behalf. He taxed Stavros with 
faithlessness, and his chequered feelings were promptly 
whipped back into confidence by the other’s cordiality 
and grave assurance. — He desert a friend ! Might the 
soul of his father appear to him that night, and announce 
eternal perdition to him, if he could be guilty of such 
meanness ! Might hell’s flames encompass him, and 
the remainder of his days be in shadow ! He thumped 
his chest violently, showed by a crimson cheek the 
wound upon his honor, and the flame of resentment was 
in his tawny eyes. 

Dr. Selaka was convinced, and apologised. Re- 
morse held his glance averted from that of his wronged 
friend, so gave the other an opportunity for looking 
slyly sideways at him, and pursing his lips forward to 
strangle the perfidious smile about them. 

In that evening’s edition of the “ New Aristophanes,” 
there was a sensational announcement that the editor 
ardently desired to explain to the Athenians the motives 
of a change of policy, and he considerately gave them 
rendez-vous on the following Sunday afternoon at the 
Odeon in Minerva Street. 

Selaka was alarmed to the verge of unreason, and 
found no comfort in an enthusiastic letter received that 
morning from Pericles, expressing complete satisfaction 
with Reineke, and his conviction that he was in every 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


1 2 1 


way worthy of Inarime. Is it human to be interested 
in the marriage of a niece when signs of storm are 
visible upon the political horizon ? But it was still pos- 
sible that a change of policy in Stavros meant no 
defection upon the question of the mayoralty. All he 
craved was the lawyer's help to that post of civic honor, 
and in parliamentary matters he was free as a weather- 
cock. 

There was something so irresistibly comic and ori- 
ginal in the audacious proposal of Stavros, that hardly 
a male in the town failed to put in an appearance at the 
Odeon. The siesta was cut short, and at half-past three 
numbers of black-coated civilians were crossing the 
Platea Omonia, where the afternoon band was playing 
in front of the Cafe Charamis. All the tables were 
speedily vacated, with empty coffee cups to speak of 
the unwonted evasion. The band went on playing to 
the nurses and babies, over whom a soldier or two 
mounted guard. 

The Odeon was crowded, and many had to content 
themselves with being packed closely in the passage, 
whence a second-hand knowledge of the proceedings 
could be obtained. 

Agiropoulos, always on the alert for surprise and ex- 
citement, was there, chatting audibly with the glorious 
Miltiades. The poet looked on with a casual, con- 
temptuous glance, which clearly expressed his opinion 
that these Athenians were so very provincial and 
absurd. 

“Absurd? Yes,” ejaculated Agiropoulos, aggres- 
sively scanning the assembly through his eyeglass. 
“That completes their interest." 


122 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


“By the soul of Hercules ! that fellow they call the 
King of Tenos is monstrous, ” muttered the poet. 

“ Because he presents the front of a credulous Greek ? ” 
“ Because he is a damned idiot.” 

Here their flattering comments were interrupted by 
the appearance of Stavros upon the stage. There was 
lively promise of what the French would call “ une 
seance h sensation,” and all eyes were fastened curi- 
ously upon the lawyer and recreant politician. As for 
his views, we will not indicate them, nor attempt to 
reproduce his words. The evolution he attempted to 
accomplish and gracefully explain might fitly be de- 
scribed less delicately upon non-political ground, but 
the atmosphere is everything. 

Stavros was tightly buttoned in a frock coat, as be- 
came a legal deputy. A semi-humorous, wholly false 
smile ran along his lips, and his audacious eyes twinkled 
pleasantly with appreciation of his difficulties. He saw 
Selaka, and he nodded deprecatingly, his smile grow- 
ing sweet and unsteady. And then, with a preparatory 
sentence or two, he launched out on the sea of empty 
eloquence. He glided fluently over trivialities, and 
lost his listeners in a fog of vague ideas, stringing 
grandiose expressions with an abominable readiness, 
until weariness sat upon the spirit of sense and begat 
regret for the wisdom of silence. Alas ! this is a wis- 
dom the modern races are unwilling to acquire. The 
wordy eloquence of the parliamentarian delights de- 
praved taste here as elsewhere, and as long as Stavros 
talked grandly of Europe, the Treaty of Berlin, the 
enlargement of the Greek frontier, the future grasp 
of Constantinople, he was quite able to drown his own 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


123 


particular villainy with these sprays of aspiration. 
Some might think him untrue to his political principles, 
but, after all, what principles could any honest politi- 
cian have but the good of his country ? It had been 
clearly demonstrated to him that his dear particular 
friend, Dr. Selaka, the distinguished member for Tenos, 
was an unfit candidate for. the Mayoralty, and that the 
election of Kyrios Oidas would redound to the honor and 
glory of Athens. 

“How much has he paid you?” Selaka roared, 
jumping to his feet, and glaring at the orator. 

“Come, Stavros, name the sum,” was shouted from 
the body of the hall. 

Stavros reddened faintly, but he faced the insult with 
an imperturbable air, dismissing it in disdainful silence. 
He maundered on, outrageously displaying his con- 
viction that men will swallow any amount of nonsense 
from a public speaker. His speech was largely inter- 
spersed with such sounding and significant words as 
“patriotism,” and “ liberty,” the glory of Greece, duty 
to his constituents, and the good of Athens, and wound 
up by protesting that the eye of Europe was anxiously 
fixed upon the coming election, and it behoved the 
Athenians to stand upon their honour. 

This farrago was followed by loud applause, and 
Agiropoulos and the poet forced their way out of the 
hall to enjoy a hearty laugh. Agiropoulos was satiri- 
cal, and drew a moving picture of Europe trembling 
upon the issue of the contest between Oidas and Stavros. 
The poet turned it into rough verse, and both exploded 
again in roars of appreciative mirth. 

“All the same, he is a villain, that Stavros.” 


124 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


“A very clever fellow/’ protested Agiropoulos, “and 
noticeably for sale. I don’t blame a man for making 
the best of his vices and gilding them for exposure. ” 

Selaka was coming out, in voluble altercation with 
the great Miltiades. The captain looked majestically 
indignant, and frowned with dreadful purpose. The 
Deputy shook his fist back towards the hall, thundered, 
vociferated, and clamored frantically for vengeance. 

“There is nothing for it, my friend, but a duel,” the 
captain insisted. “You must fight him, positively.” 

“ I will fight him, yes. I, Constantine Selaka, will 
mangle, murder, shoot him.” 

This wrench of wounded trust was more than the 
wretched man could bear. Agiropoulos took malicious 
interest in his raving and ranting. He drew near and, 
by a sympathetic remark, put a point upon his victim’s 
sufferings. 

“By Zeus! I’ll shoot him, I will. I’ll riddle him 
with balls, and leave his carcase food for the ravens.” 

“Avery laudable intention on your part, Kyrie Se- 
laka, and one that every reasonable man will appre- 
ciate,” said Agiropoulos, winking at the poet. 

“I have urged him to it,” Miltiades explained, heroi- 
cally. “ I am proud to place myself in this delicate 
matter at the service of Dr. Selaka.” 

“ It is an honour to know a gallant man and a hero 
like you, Captain Karapolos,” • Agiropoulos rejoined 
gravely. 

Miltiades touched his hat and bowed. His expression 
eloquently said : “If it’s gallantry and heroism you’re 
in search of, you’ve come to the right person.” 

The distraught doctor, walking between his friends, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


I2 5 

uttered many a rash word, and no suggestion less than 
murder could appease his wrath. That evening it was 
bruited round Athens that he had sent a challenge to 
Stavros, and the town impatiently awaited the exciting 
results. 

Oidas acted as second to Stavros. When the hour 
was fixed, he found his principal plunged in the depths 
of despair. The lawyer and editor had a very good 
notion of settling a quarrel with the pen and the tongue, 
but when it came to a question of loaded pistols, capa- 
city oozed out through his finger-tips, and the sweat 
of mortal terror drenched his brow. 

“ If the thing should not go off properly ? ” he sug- 
gested. 

“Just hold it straight, and sight your target — like 
this," Oidas explained, lifting the weapon. 

“Oh, oh ! take care, Oidas. Mind it doesn't go off,” 
Stavros supplicated, making a rush for the door. 

“ You fool ! It is not even loaded.” 

Stavros sat up all night to write miserable letters to 
his mother and sisters at Constantinople, and heaped 
curses on the head of his frantic enemy. The doctor 
fared hardly better. Deprived of the stimulating society 
of his military friend, his spirits sank, his mind became 
unhinged, and his aspect took a funereal hue. He sent 
an incoherent missive to Pericles, and lay on his bed 
weeping and moaning. When Miltiades and Agiropou- 
los aroused him next morning, his eyelids were appall- 
ing to behold, and his effort at cheerfulness most ghastly. 

“A soldier never anticipates evil ; is that not so, my 
brave Captain ? ” laughed Agiropoulos. 

“ Could not this matter be more pacifically arranged ? ” 


126 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


Selaka implored, vainly endeavoring to conceal his 
fear in the mask of humanity. “ It is a sinful thing, 
my friends, to waste the blood of one’s fellow in a 
private quarrel.” 

“If it comes to that,” said the ready Agiropoulos, 
“there is little to choose between public and private 
quarrels. Indeed, more often than not, wars have 
sprung from personal differences.” 

“But the law of every civilised country forbids duel- 
ling. Stavros and I are both lawgivers — that is, we rep- 
resent the Constitution, and are bound to uphold it. 
It would be monstrous for two members of Parliament 
to break the law,” pleaded Selaka, covering himself 
with a last poor remnant of virtue. 

“We make the laws for others, never for ourselves. 
Hang it, man, what’s liberty if it can’t provide us with 
a backstairs to the Temple of Wrong, and can’t supply 
us with decent excuses for the evasion of principles ? ” 
“There is an abominable looseness in yours,” 
remarked Selaka, in a doleful attempt at indignation. 

“Come, Doctor,” Miltiades cried, clanking his spurs 
impatiently. “ Whatever the laws of the State may be, 
the laws of honor demand that neither antagonist be a 
moment behind time. I have the pistols. Be so good 
as to hurry your movements. ” 

The doctor’s laggard air suggested the gathering of 
scattered limbs, and the necessity for adjusting them 
before a march could be effected. He looked ruefully 
at the impassible Agiropoulos, and resented his irhper- 
tinent eyeglass and his irreproachable toilet. He 
looked at the stern and gallant captain, wavered, and 
fresh words of protest died in his throat. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


127 


“There is no fear of our being discovered and the 
affair stopped ? ” he asked, in the tone of one to whom 
such a contingency would appear the worst possible 
catastrophe. 

“Oh, none whatever,” Miltiades replied, reassuringly. 

“ Oh ! ” ejaculated Selaka, with his heart in his boots. 

Through a similar hour of agony Stavros had passed, 
and awaited them with a poor imitation of stoic bearing. 

“If anything happens, don’t forget to send this letter 
to my brother,” Selaka entreated, as he tremblingly 
took the pistol from Miltiades. 

“God have mercy on my soul,” he murmured, firing 
with closed eyes, and shot — not his enemy but himself. 


128 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN , i 


CHAPTER XI. 

TENOS. 

Like a roseate jewel in a circle of sapphire, with opal 
and mauve and purple lights struck from it by the sun’s 
rays, lies Tenos upon the deep and variable bosom of 
the ^Egean waters. The Greek islands seen from the 
sea are untiringly, unspeakably beautiful. Shadow 
and shine, delicate hues and strong ones melt into an 
inextricable haze, as do the sensations of the spectator, 
incapable of analysis as he watches them. Energy 

oozes out through the finger-tips, the pulses quiet in 

lazy delight, and the eye is filled for once with seeing. 
But the heart is tranquil, unutterably content, and of 
speech there is no need. Here at last is forgetfulness 

of sorrow and unrest. Here is the Eastern sage’s 

dream realised, out of the reach of the envenomed 
shafts of Fate, — floating indolently on a just stirred field 
of liquid blue, all land and sky and water is a harmo- 
nious blending of the purest tints. An infinitude of 
azure melts by tranquil degrees into milk-white ; a 
flame as bright as the heart of a pomegranate and blind- 
ing as unshaded carmine, steals insidiously into the 
mountains of mauve, and changes them to pink. 

But it is only when your barque draws nigh the 
sleepy little hollow of a very sleepy little town, that 


DA UGHTERS OF MEM 


129 

you are shaken out of your exquisite dream of Paradise. 
You see the harsh subdued contrast of the white houses 
and their green jalousies, looking as if they had fallen 
asleep in the Middle Ages, and nobody had remem- 
bered to awake them since, — a break of dim barbaric life 
upon a background of desolate rocks and empty mountain 
sides. Tenos is certainly not Paradise. It has a little 
pier, and is a perfect maze of misshapen arches, and 
filthy lanes, calculated to make the least fastidious stran- 
ger shudder in mingled fear and disgust. There are un- 
savoury little cafes, outside which, at all hours of the 
day, uncouth men, in dirty costumes, sit drinking and 
smoking narghiles, which the cafe-clods carry from 
one to the other with the long tubes between their lips, 
and then pass it to the lips of their customers, who are 
vivaciously, and in passionate earnest, discussing the 
affairs of Europe, while Providence and the women- 
folk are equal partners in the care of their own. 

But the town, as you skirt the lanes and arches that 
crowd down upon the sea-line, has a charm exclusively 
its own. The tiny streets, when they are paved, are 
paved with marble ; and the houses on either side have 
a cheerful conversational way of reaching across to 
shake hands and exchange other amenities. An occa- 
sional palm tree lifts itself up against the pure sky, as 
do the sails of wind mills, circled like monster spiders 
webs. There is music in the trickling descent of the 
mountain rills flowing over the marble and silver stones, 
in and out of which the lizards, quick with life and the 
joy of the sunshine, are ever coming and going. Then 
there is that singular construction, the great shrine and 
pilgrimage of the Virgin of the East, a marble building 

9 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


130 

containing an expansive courtyard, a square of cloisters 
and pilgrim-houses and a curious semi-Byzantine 
church, full of monstrous treasures in gold and silver. 
Over the little town it towers in glistening splendour, on 
the top of an inclined street, called “ Virgin Street,” en- 
framed in silver olives and stately palms, and elegantly 
paved outside and inside. The sloping way that runs 
from it right down to the sea, might be ground of shin- 
ing snow ; it is moss embroidered, and lit by the double 
geraniums that look like roses, and shaded by the 
gloomy cypress. 

The isle of Tenos has pretensions of its own that it 
were idle for us to dispute. It is divided into sixty-two 
villages, some of which consist of three churches and 
four houses, and none show less than three churches 
for the accommodation of every dozen inhabitants. It 
will be satisfactory for the law-loving reader to learn 
that these villages are apportioned into four mayoral- 
ties, governed by one mayor and three justices of the 
peace, and that, — late crown of representative existence, 
until M. Tricoupis cruelly brought in a bill a year or 
two ago, which affiliated this “ tight little island” with 
her near neighbour Andros, — it actually sent three mem- 
bers to Parliament, to look after its interests in King 
George’s Boule. at Athens. But all glory is evanescent. 
It has been proved by history that it is idle to place 
any trust in ministers or princes. Heaven knows why 
Tenos was shorn of her parliamentary splendour, but 
alas! what is to be expected of an economic minister, 
who prefers to consider the debts of Hellas rather than 
her greatness, and who rashly decided that the work 
left undone by three Members of Parliament may be 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


131 

efficiently accomplished by one ? The chief and most 
exasperating neglect of these late illustrious persons is 
the formation of roads. There is not a single road 
throughout the island, and only two level spots, the 
lovely plain of Kolymvithra, and a quarter of a mile 
round the great purple Castro, where once the Vene- 
tians held their seat of government, their solitary for- 
tress towering over the ruined little town of Borgo. 
This oasis of pathway, in a desert of precipices and 
rocky altitudes, runs from the top of the episcopal vil- 
lage of Xinara to the Greek monastery in the village of 
San Francisco. It is unknown whether it is a remnant 
of Venetian civilisation or of Turkish barbarism. But 
it is quite certain that it is not the result of the crown 
of triple representatives Tenos until lately wore. For 
the rest of the time, the rider is conducted by an un- 
manageable mule, which indulges a lively weakness 
for the dizzy verge of a ravine, along which he phleg- 
matically picks his way. From almost perpendicular 
escarpments he drops into awful depths of rock and 
furze and nettle, to trail his anxious and unhappy bur- 
den through the musical bed of a torrent, and damage 
irretrievably a new pair of boots by forcing them into 
an inconvenient affinity with rough walls and jutting 
branches. 

After a while, when the frame becomes physically 
inured to the sensational extremities of this kind of 
exercise, the traveller discovers that, however dreadful 
the eccentricities of his mule, the brute is very sure, 
if leisurely, and that though his position be invariably 
a discomposing ascent or descent, no harm to his head 
01 his limbs will come of it. He gradually learns to 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


U2 

take his troubles philosophically, and look about him 
with perfect security. If it is evening, he will note the 
heavenliest sky, and watch the soft mist burn out the 
sapphire stealingly, while the strata of gold and rose 
fade to pink and pearly opal. He will delight in the 
contrast of marble mountain and purple thyme, cycla- 
mens waving the meadows mauve, or poppies covering 
them in scarlet flakes, and the tall daisies white above 
the green like the foam of the sea, or anemones making 
a delicate haze upon the landscape. There will be 
patches of white heath over the hill curves, and poig- 
nant scents to stir the senses. And in and out of the 
twilit gray of the olives, the darkening glance and 
sparkle of the sea that is never out of sight, — now laugh- 
ing through a network of fig branches, then through 
the stiff spikes of the cactus, or the graceful foliage of 
the plane, and white villages studding the orchards and 
gardens like jewels. Over all hangs a strange note of 
happy indifference, a rude naturalness that seeks no 
concealment and cares not for shadow, hymns the 
smiles of blue water and the glory of the sky ; the sharp 
broad beauties of seashore and mountain and valley. 

The people are as simple as their landscape. Their 
lives are spent in Arcadian ignorance and unaccom- 
plished simplicity, as unconscious of the evils of desti- 
tution as of the temptation of wealth. They dislike 
work, and manage to shirk it, for every one owns a 
garden, a few fruit trees, a goat, a pig, and perhaps a 
donkey. Dirty in their persons, their houses are invit- 
ingly clean, and stand always open. 

Leaving the pleasing altitudes of a general survey, 
the reader is invited to fix his gaze upon the little vil- 


DAUGHTERS of men. 


*33 

lage of Xinara. Two things strike the observer on enter- 
ing its single street ; the quantity of pigs and unwashed 
children, and the signs of desolation and pre-exist- 
ence upon the blackened ruins in suggestive proximity 
with the comparatively new houses and cottages. 
Near bright flowers and trellised verandahs, stand 
broken walls with fig branches and weeds struggling 
through a dismantled window, and curious Venetian sym- 
bols and legends wrought in marble, now black with age 
and exposure, above the doors and windows that have 
long since served the pigeons as convenient shelter. 
With the pigs and poultry peeping through the wooden 
chinks, you see blocks of marble crusted with gold and 
silver stones scintillating like flashes of light. Beside 
a little glaring church, jaunty in its hideousness, stand 
a row of houses burnt yellow and black, as if they had 
sustained all the sieges of the Middle Ages, and pierced 
with pigeon holes like a face with small-pox. 

The street is divided in two by a dark stone arch. 
Instead of the provincial inn, there are three clubs, the 
blacksmith’s den, the carpenter’s rude workshop, and 
the single general store. This is kept by the village 
Lothario, Demetrius, a splendid fellow inclining to cor- 
pulency, who wears a ring, a fez, and even goes to the 
length of washing his hands and face and combing his 
hair once a day. One is not a village Lothario for 
nothing. He is married, and hence he adds a disap- 
pointed and hopeless air to his fascinating crimson tie 
whenever he serves or chats with a woman under forty. 
But he draws the line at forty. Kyria Demetrius has 
attained that respectable age. 

There is a fountain close by, where the women 


134 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


gather with red earthen jars to draw water and indulge 
in cheerful social intercourse. It is enclosed in a deep, 
damp arch, black and lichen-grown, with heavy beams 
of wood supporting its roof, and higher up is the pub- 
lic laundry, a tank with a sloping stone under it, 
where the laundresses scrub their linen kneeling round, 
and converse in a dull undertone, varied by an occa- 
sional tendency to scream. 

The houses are reached by a small flight of marble 
steps, and are always confined to one floor with a 
pretty terrace outside, and underneath is stabling for 
the mules and donkeys and other live stock. 

Beyond the archway lies the Catholic Cathedral, with 
the Bishop’s Palace and Garden. The Church is of 
respectable size, but ugly, and the Palace a dreary 
yellow building enlivened by the red tiles of the pec- 
tinated roof. But the Bishop’s garden is charming. 
Goldfinches sing in the Persian lilacs, and the rippling 
rills are never silent. In the centre, there is a big stone 
tank and a sun-dial, and the oranges swing like gold 
balls against the dark cypress. The valley upon which 
it looks down is indeed a vale of delight. Olives 
paint a silver mist upon the sunny landscape, and the 
fig and mulberry foliage lend it colour. The girdling 
mountains of the neighbouring isles rise sharply against 
the sky, and in and out their curves, opening upon the 
roseate shores of Euboea, breaks the sea like lapides- 
cent blue, while through the moist, grassy plain of 
Kolymvithra twists and swirls a vein of silver water. 
The other side of the picture is a view of gloomy moun- 
tain, bare grey rock and broken blocks of marble, 
rising above the tangle of village gardens and trellised 


DA UGHTEKS OF MEM 


135 

verandahs, with their showy display of geraniums, car- 
nations, roses and cactus drapery, from whose bed of 
peaked leaves gleam large magenta stars. And here 
and there the windmills make gigantic shadows upon 
the earth, flocks of pigeons shoot like spots of illumi- 
nated snow through the sunlit air, and goats browse 
amongst the scented furzes of the rocks, in easy com- 
panionship with mules and kine. 

To reach the house of Pericles Selaka, on the other 
side of the village, the traveller must make his own 
pathway with the loose stones in the bed of a minute 
down-flowing stream. The water is crystal-clear, and 
nothing can be more engaging than its gurgle and 
sparkle, but damp feet are the inevitable consequence of 
its acquaintance. After a wet passage through the tor- 
rent-bed, more or less torn and troubled by the neighbour- 
hood of blackberries, thorny hedgerows and tall reeds, 
he will have to cut his way through a stony meadow, 
jump the low, loose walls that separate each field, tangle 
his limbs in a multiplicity of straggling branches and 
uncultivated growths, and trample ruthlessly upon 
the pretty heads of the wild flowers. Every shade in 
foliage, and every hue and odour in flower will charm 
him : the delicacy of the plane sets off the polished dark- 
ness of the oleander and myrtle leaf, the moist glitter 
of the maidenhair enriches the ferns that spread them- 
selyes like fans upon the rocks, and along the vine- 
branches the shooting leaves begin to uncurl. From 
the hedges there will be the song of the linnets and 
goldfinches, and under them the musical lapping of 
water against stones. 

Pericles Selaka’s house had originally belonged to a 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


136 

Venetian noble family, and still showed the coat-of- 
arms wrought.in marble on either side of the gate, 
with a Latin inscription under a Venetian gondola. 
It stood above the village, overlooking the two lovely 
valleys that divide the flanks of the empty encircling 
hills, — hills bare of all but the glory of their own tint, 
and the wavering clouds that sweep, soft and shadowy, 
over the everlasting sunshine. Behind it the mighty 
Castro, proud in its purple and grey desolation, bereft 
of its old splendour, but still dominating the island like 
an acropolis, and in through the openings of its crags, 
cleft in nature’s fury, runs the sea as through a frame. 
The courtyard into which the gate opened was gemmed 
with flowers. In the middle there was a well, and on 
either side a palm tree with wooden seats under its 
shade. 

It was winter, so the vine-roofed verandah was a 
flood of sunshine. A short flight of marble steps led 
to the terrace above, whence Syra, Delos and Naxos 
might be seen, as well as the sloping fields that drop 
into the torrent below, and Selaka’s orchard and vine- 
yard, which, at that time, showed pale, slim lines of 
green just opening upon the brown earth. A watch- 
dog dozing in view, lazily observed the regular rise and 
fall of the digger’s spade, and only wakened to sharp 
activity whenever a venturesome sheep or goat thrust 
itself upon his notice. An oppressive silence lay upon 
the land, and there was silence in the house whence 
the terrace opened. 

The room into which you stepped from the terrace 
was simplicity itself. White everywhere ; white sofas, 
white curtains and white chair covers, with a purple 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


*37 

table-cloth edged with wonderful Byzantine embroidery. 
On a black cabinet there was a goodly display of old 
Greek jars and lamps ; and inside, a tray of antique 
coins and exquisitely carved silver. These heirlooms 
are to be found in the poorest Teniote cottages. I 
have been served by a cottager with water and jam on 
a'heavy silver tray, the water in a delicate Venetian 
glass with armorial bearings wrought in colours into the 
glass, and the jam in a costly silver chalice. In a re- 
cess there were shelves fitted with the Greek classics, 
from which the Latin writers were jealously excluded. 
Your scholarly Greek despises Latin. Sitting at aside 
table beside a window that looked out upon the Castro, 
was an old man bent over one of these classical tomes. 
He was reading in a leisurely, familiar way, as a con- 
noisseur sips his port. Occasionally he lifted his eyes 
from his book, and removed his black cap, all the 
while unconsciously and swiftly rolling up cigarettes, 
and puffing with the same deliberate appreciation 
noticeable in his manner of reading. He was a keen, 
thoughtful-looking man, with a curious mingling of 
black and white in hair and beard. 

His solitude was interrupted by the entrance of an 
old woman, dressed in a garment that may best be 
described as a black sack. She was a serene little 
woman, very tidily built, with an indefatigable and 
sturdy air, and in her brown face sparkled two preter- 
naturally black eyes. She wore a Turkish kerchief of 
red muslin wound round her head, and outside this an 
enormous plait of false hair, as is the ungraceful habit 
of the Island women This was Selaka s housekeeper 
and servant in one. She was called Annunziata. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


IS* 

“This, Kyrie, has just been brought up from the 
town,” she said, handing him a telegram. 

Pericles took the telegram, opened it in his leisurely 
way, — one naturally grows sleepy on a sleepy island. 
It was from his brother in Athens announcing Reineke’s 
coming. Pericles frowned, and looked more thought- 
ful than ever as he read the communication. As may 
be imagined, it was neither very delicate nor very wise. 
It referred to a possible desirable solution of Inarime's 
future. 

“Humph,” said Pericles, and crushed the missive in 
his hand, “my brother is sending us a visitor, Annun- 
ziata,” he explained, curtly. 

“A visitor! Has your brother taken leave of his 
senses? Surely the visitor who proposes to come 
here cannot be other than a madman,” said Annun- 
ziata, who appropriated the privilege of speaking her 
mind to her master. 

“ He was always a fool,” assented Pericles ; “how- 
ever, it is essential that we should sustain our reputa- 
tion for hospitality ; so, my dear woman, you will be 
good enough to prepare a room for the guest.” 

“And why should I prepare? Don’t you know that 
my rooms are always prepared ? ” protested Annunzi- 
ata, hurt in her honour as a housekeeper. 

“Yes, yes, but there will be sheets to air, and flowers 
and such things to put in the room. He is an invalid ; 
and sick men are proverbially difficult to please. They 
require as much spoiling as a woman,” said Pericles, 
dismissing the subject with a majestic wave of his hand. 

The subject, however, would not be dismissed from 
his mind, and he sat there with his open book, his 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


139 

eyes persistently wandering from one window to an- 
other, looking now out on the bright terrace and then 
on the gloomy Castro behind. It was hardly human 
for a father not to speculate upon the coming of this 
stranger, and its possible consequences. A husband 
for Inarime ! Nonsense ! it was not to be imagined 
that any stray adventurer, whom his brother might 
choose to pick up, could possibly prove a worthy or 
desirable mate for that pearl among girls. Besides, he 
was not prepared to give her to any man who could 
not indisputably claim to be a Greek scholar. He 
knew the sort of scholars Europe habitually sends to 
Greece. Self-sufficient young men or tottering archaeol- 
ogists with a barbaric pronunciation and a superficial 
acquaintance with Homer and Plato. These were not 
the scholars he desired to know, nor the sort who, 
under any circumstances, could prove congenial to 
him. As for Inarime, she was likely to be still more 
fastidious. Her beauty and her great gifts entitled her 
to contempt for less gifted mortals. While thinking 
thus, a shadow crossed the light of the terrace, and 
a girl’s form stood framed in the doorway. 


140 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XII. 

INARIME. 

Anybody whose travels have led him to the Hellenic 
shores, knows too well that the old classic beauty is 
almost extinct. But not quite. Here and there, on the 
islands of the Archipelago, he may chance upon a face 
that looks at him out of the other centuries, — stamped 
with the grandeur of an unforgotten race in protest 
against a physical deterioration that gives it the melan- 
choly charm of isolation. This vision is rare, but once 
seen it is beheld with breathless wonder. There is noth- 
ing to compare with it. Other European types of beauty 
sink beside it, as do Italian melodies beside a bar of 
Beethoven. It is as if over a gray landscape the scarlet 
dawn broke suddenly, showing an unhoped-for reality 
in glowing tints and soft lines no imagination can 
picture. 

Lit by the strong sunshine, with the faintest grave 
smile round her lovely lips, as she met the puzzled 
glance of her father, Inarime looked as if she sprang 
direct from the Immortals. 

Something like her face the student dreams of, when 
he muses over the great Dead. The small dusky head, 
its blue-black hair, softening to a tawny sheen at the 
brows; the olive cheek as smooth as satin, almost col- 
ourless except where it gathers the bloom of the tea-rose, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. ! 4 x 

or of a shell held to the light. The full firm curves of 
the mouth, rather grave than gay, but ineffably sweet, 
with paler lips than those of the North ; the delicate 
nose coming down straight from the forehead : the low 
arch of the eyebrows, and the curves of the chin that 
show no weakness. These details much contributed 
to the charm of the whole. But its greatest beauty 
were the unfathomable eyes — of a deep brown with an 
outer ring, which in any joyous mood gave them the 
gleam of amber, while sorrow or deep emotion darkened 
them to the luster of agate. She wore a dress of dull 
gold, with a bronze velvet collar and cuffs. The front 
of the bodice was trimmed with large bronze but- 
tons. It was not a dress which Mademoiselle Veri- 
tassi would have worn, but then, on the other hand, it 
was not a dress that Mademoiselle Veritassi could have 
worn. Dowdy it was not, but strange, and looked as 
if it had grown upon the young, firm, and supple form 
it clothed. Inarime had a pardonable weakness for 
this most suitable gown. She had worn it constantly 
since she had selected it from the merchant who brought 
the stuff from Syra, with other splendid materials fop the 
women and young persons of Tenos, and the dress- 
maker, who had studied her art in that same elegant 
centre, had made it for her. Indeed, she had never a 
variety of gowns, nor did she seem to miss this source 
of happiness. Round her neck hung suspended by a thin 
gold chain a little Byzantine cross, a relic of her mother, ' 
and her abundant hair was gathered into a thick coil 
with a long golden pin. It may seem strange that I 
should insist upon these trivial matters, seeing it is 
generally considered that young girls should be thus 


142 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


adorned, but it is not so in Tenos, and the artistic 
delight Inarime could not have failed to take in her 
own beauty, apart from any silly vanity, and with no 
desire to please the eye of others, is a very singular 
deviation from the custom of Greek girls. 

“ Have you been waiting for me ever since, father ? ” 
she asked. A still more curious fact, she did not speak 
the insular dialect, but pure Athenian, with a faultless 
accent. 

“Yes, my dear,” said Pericles, addressing her in the 
same language, though he had spoken good Teniote to 
Annunziata. “ It is well that you have come now. I 
think, my dear, it will be better for you to spend a few 
days with your aunt at Mousoulou, and it has occurred 
to me that you might go there this afternoon.” 

“ But, why ? I have no desire to go to Mousoulou,” 
protested Inarime. 

“Well, if you would just please me in this matter, 
I cannot tell you how grateful I should be to you, 
Inarime,” said her father, who always treated her as an 
equal. For this young creature was to him more son 
than daughter, since he had brought her up in a mas- 
culine fashion, in the matter of education and training. 

“It is strange, father, that you should turn capricious 
and mysterious, but I will obey you in this as in all 
else,” she said, with an exquisite gravity which likened 
her more than ever to a young goddess. 

She was standing close to him now ; and he got up, 
placed his hands upon her shoulders, and looked 
earnestly into her eyes. 

“It is no more than I might expect of you, Inarime ” 
he said. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


143 

There was a dignity, a restraint about the relations 
of these two that was very striking. Perhaps Pericles 
affected the manner and bearing of the Ancients, with 
whom he exclusively communed, and perhaps Inarime 
had ostentatiously caught this trick from him. Laugh- 
ter with them was as rare as anger, and both held their 
pulses in complete subjection. 

Something of Inarime’s life, — while that lucky young 
man, known in Greece as “the man of confidence,” 
who can be trusted to act as knight to a lady, is lead- 
ing her mule to the distant village of Mousoulou, and 
while Gustav Reineke, on the “Iris,” is speeding 
towards the shores of Tenos. This life is simple enough : 
unemotional, unanalysable ; an eager student from 
youngest years, the sole companion of a sage who 
lived in the past. But Inarime enjoyed a local reputa- 
tion that carried the mind back to antique or mediaeval 
days. The equilibrium of Europe was not likely to be 
disturbed by it, but the peace of the island most certainly 
was. All things we know are relative, and it is possible 
the unknown and unsought conquests of Inarime would 
have been far enough from causing any excitement to 
a London sylph. But besides Inarime’s influence and 
reputation, extending over four mayoralties and sixty- 
two villages, with a list of suitors headed by a bachelor 
mayor and the two unmarried deputies, and including 
every single man and youth of the island, the London 
sylph will be seen to play a small and insignificant 
part in her own distinguished circle. She would prob- 
ably turn up her patrician nose at the addresses of a 
shepherd and a barbaric demarch. But then the 
shepherd and the demarch would care as little about her. 


144 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


Despite their inherited and undisguised contempt for 
women, the sons of Hellas have sense and taste enough 
to know the value of an antique head on live young 
shoulders. It was now nearly two years since the 
mountaineers, meeting on the rocky pathways that scale 
the crags and precipices and fringe the torrent-beds, 
began to ask why Selaka delayed to choose a son-in-law. 
Each man regarded himself as the only proper choice. 
And down in the cafes the townsfolk and fishermen 
wanted an answer to the same question. As a set-off 
against this suspense, there was the satisfactory knowl- 
edge that Selaka’s choice would find it no easy matter 
to bring home his bride. Indeed, a few young bloods, 
like Thomaso, the Mayor's nephew, a quarrelsome fellow 
given to an undue consumption of raki, and Petrus Vitalis, 
whose father’s recent death left him the proud proprietor 
of three Caiques, openly spoke of abduction. Constan- 
tine Selaka was aware of all this, and was extremely 
anxious that Pericles should select a son-in-law from 
among his Athenian friends. Choice and preliminaries 
should, of course, be a matter of strict secrecy, as a 
preventive of warlike explosion, for he knew that In- 
arime’s suitors would prove as little amenable to reason 
and fair play as the graceless suitors of the unfortunate 
Penelope. 

And if, by delay, his niece should be carried off by the 
desperate Thomaso or Petrus Vitalis, clack ! Good-bye 
to the Athenian nephew-in-law. 

“ Idiots ! how dare they aspire to her?” Pericles ex- 
claimed, whenever such unsuitable proposal reached 
him. 

“Well, Pericles, you must marry her to somebody. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


45 


and you can’t expect a Phoebus Apollo, with the classics 
on the tip of his tongue. You would find him incon- 
venient enough,” the less exacting Constantine would 
explain. 

“ Leave Apollos, though I would have no objection 
if one were to be had. But do you seriously expect me 
to marry a girl like Inarime, as lovely as Artemis, as 
learned and wise as Athena, to a clown ? A fellow 
who gets up at two of a summer morning to shoot in- 
offensive birds, and gets drunk upon abominable raki 
while prating in vile Romanic about politics and the 
Lord knows what, of which he understands nothing ! ” 

“ No, but there is Vitalis, the * member,’ who wants 
her.” 

“ May the devil sit upon his moustaches for a vulgar 
blustering fool ! ” exclaimed the old man, forgetting 
Olympus. “ What is your Vitalis, Constantine ? A boor. 
An uneducated lawyer, who could not tell a verse of 
Euripides from one of Sophocles ; doesn’t, in fact, know 
that either existed, and never translated a sentence of 
Thucydides in his life. A clown is better. At least he 
has a dim consciousness that he is a barbarian. Where- 
as the other shrunken miserable being in his ill-fitting 
clothes and European hat, deems himself the happiest 
edition of a boulevardier. Boulevardier, save the mark ! 
France has been the ruin of us ! ” 

“ Then can’t you take Dragonnis, the other mem- 
ber ? ” 

“No, I cannot. I don’t want any wretched politician 
for Inarime. Dragonnis is as bad as his colleague — a pair 
of dunderheads. My daughter will not marry a Teniote, 
neither will she marry a chattering, gossiping Athenian. 

io 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


146 

Some day I’ll take her abroad, and give her to a scholar 
and a gentleman, who will see in her gifts and beauty 
something other than the mere decorations of an upper 
servant and mother of a family.” 

Inarime had been the subject of disputes of this sort 
between the brothers ever since that memorable day 
when the absence of shots proclaimed to the village 
that a little “ daughter of man,” instead of the desired 
“son of God,” had come to bless the house. To the 
friends and relatives, the intrusion of the unappreciated 
sex was not, however, looked upon in the light of a 
blessing. According to custom, people came and shook 
the hand of the injured father, condoling loudly with 
the sorrowing and disgraced mother. But when Selaka’s 
wife died shortly afterwards, and there was no boy on 
whom he could hope to bestow his knowledge and 
learning, the father clung to Inarime. He resolved to 
show the world, by his untiring labour, that a girl may 
develop remarkable capacity and intellect. He cared 
little about modern acquirements, but fed her mind ex- 
clusively upon the philosophy, poetry, and history of her 
great ancestors. Homer and Hesiod were the fairy tales 
of her childhood, — Plutarch the first book she learned 
to read. She was familiar with all the ancient dialects 
and Greek literature, from the timeof Hesiod totheAlex- 
andrian Renaissance. She was taught to choose the 
simplest phrasing, and yet one that was severely academ- 
ical, from which all foreign interpolations of modern 
Greek were expunged. The old caligraphy, too, was 
insisted upon, and she wrote papers on the Trilogy from 
which an infallible University Don might have learned 
much. Some of these papers her delighted father con- 


DA UGHTERS OF ME AT. 


147 

templated sending to one of the German Universities, 
where he knew that the fragrance of original thought and 
excellent style would be morejustly appreciated than in 
frivolous Athens. But he feared the wrench of surrender 
such recognition from beyond the iEgean might bring. 
A girl so perilously gifted might seek to plunge into the 
waters alone and swim in depths beyond which his 
dim eyes and feeble hopes could not follow. Besides, 
with him she was completely happy, and publicity is a 
misery, a fret and a constant strain upon the nerves. 

Thus she grew up unconscious of solitude or of needs 
other than those which her surroundings supplied. As 
for the accomplishments which occupy the elegant 
leisure of European young ladies, she was hopelessly 
ignorant : would have been perfectly unserviceable at a 
suburban tea-party or a game of tennis, and the popin- 
jays who figure in polite society would have scorned 
her, had they attempted to engage her in conversation 
suitable to a background of moonlit balcony, or in the 
movement of a waltz. But if she could not dance or 
embroider, and sing Signor Tosti’s weeping melodies, 
and if her brown slender hands looked as if their acquaint- 
ance with sun and air was considerably greater than 
with kid or Su6de, she. could carry a water-jar from the 
village fountain in an attitude that was a picture of 
grace, with a light swinging step that was the music of 
motion — and this the London sylph could not have done. 
Her father was strong upon the necessity for thorough 
gymnastic training, and she could swim and run and ride 
a mile like a young athlete. Even Greek boys cannot 
do as much, but then they are not brought up by anti- 
quated professors, who faithfully copy the precepts of 


148 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


the old philosophers. Selaka, for this athletic training 
cultivated a strip of sanded path in his farm near the 
sea, with the shade of plane trees for rest. Here Ina- 
rime raced and exercised, sweeping the sanded path 
with flying feet, and lips parted with the joy of quick 
movement and the flush of health crimsoning her olive 
cheek. 

Outside her books, her racing and riding, she had 
another important duty — that of general letter-writer for 
Xinara and the adjacent village of Lutra. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


149 


CHAPTER XIII. 

REINEKES ARRIVAL AT XINARA. 

It was a bright December afternoon when Reineke 
was left by the Iris upon the little pier at Tenos. Aris- 
tides, the “ young man of confidence,” who had 
safely deposited Inarime at her aunt’s at Mousoulou, 
was sent by Selaka to meet him. Gustav inquiringly 
scanned his conductors face. He disliked its inquis- 
itiveness and keenness, and was repelled by the famil- 
iarity with which the fellow held out his hand. But 
he took the hand, and coldly expressed his satisfaction 
with his new acquaintance, who explained to him 
volubly that it would be advisable to rest a little in the 
town before ascending to Xinara. Aristides then pro- 
ceeded to guide the stranger to a little cafe , and Rei- 
neke’s visible weakness made even a rest in such a 
locality grateful. He sat quietly waiting for some 
coffee, and looked around. Being an Eastern, he felt 
less shuddering repugnance to the place than an English- 
man or Frenchman would have felt. Besides, there 
was an acute pleasure to be derived from watching the 
light flash upon the blue waters, and gleam upon the 
lifted oars until they looked like ^shining spears. He 
inferred that Aristides was the son of his host, and 
conjectured that he would not be likely to draw very 


50 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


largely upon such resources for intellectual enjoyment. 
And then, personally, he disliked the Greeks, as we 
know. He was not restless or particularly active, so 
that he could comfortably get through a couple of hours 
in this indolent contemplation. But it was with a sense 
of relief that he saw Aristides approach with a mule 
upon which he was invited to mount, and slowly they 
made the difficult ascent. To a strong man such a 
ride would be discomposing in the extreme ; to a man 
still in the clutch of an intermittent fever it was positive 
torture. It seemed to Reineke that the attitude of the 
beast was a constant perpendicular, now with its head 
for apex and now with its tail and this sort of motion 
continued a good hour and a half. The musical flow 
of the torrent beds and the echo of distant waterfalls 
were heard mingling with varied bird-notes. But how 
to take aesthetic pleasure in these sounds when one is 
momentarily expecting to be hurled into eternity, or, at 
least, in peril of leaving various limbs about the preci- 
pices and ravines ; now frantically clutching forward and 
then almost prone backwards to preserve one’s balance ! 

Little by little, however, his senses began to recover, 
and he was able to take occasional glimpses of the 
strange landscape through which he was being hurled. 
The gathering twilight was dimming the pure air, but 
had not yet struck out the colours that lay upon 
the land. The meadows were full of wild flowers, and 
he noted how beautiful some of the weeds were. 
The bloom of the fields and the gray mist of the olives, 
and the purple haze that lay upon the fig branches, 
tracing their intricate pattern across the silent hills and 
making their own pathway for the shadows, charmed 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


151 

him. The sparkle and murmur of water, the departing 
smile of sunshine from the darkening heavens, the early 
stir of shepherd life, an air so fine that every scent from 
valley and hillside was discernible from the mingled 
whole, filled him with a sense of exquisite content. 
And when he saw the beautiful valley of Kolymvithra 
unfolded like a panorama under the village of Xinara, 
and the great purple Castro lost in evening shade, he 
felt that his perilous ride had not been in vain. 

As they rode up the little village street, Demetrius 
and his satellites were standing outside the blacksmith’s 
den. The presence of a stranger naturally diverted 
their thoughts fron the rascalities of the Prime Minister 
at Athens, which they had been discussing. 

“That, I suppose, is an Englishman,” said the hand- 
some Demetrius, removing his cigarette, and staring 
hard at Reineke with an air of ill-concealed discontent, 
as he addressed himself inclusively to Michael, the con- 
templative carpenter, and Johannis, the blacksmith. 

“ He is too dark for an Englishman ; it is most likely 
he’s an Italian, ” suggested the carpenter, in a tone of 
apologetic protest. 

“You fool ! do you think that every Englishman is 
yellow-haired and white and red ? ” retorted Demetrius, 
snappishly. “ But you are not going to deny, I hope, 
that the man has the conceited air of an Englishman ? 
No other people carry themselves as if the world be- 
longed to them, and those that are not English do not 
count. And what is all this pride for, pray? Ten of 
their heroes would not make one of ours.” 

“ Very true, Demetrius,” concurred Michael, con- 
ciliatorily. “ If England had produced one Miltiades, 


152 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


we might all go hang ourselves, for no other nation 
would be allowed to exist.' Now here are we good- 
natured Greeks, who count our heroes by the hundred, 
and know ourselves to be the point upon which the 
world, both occidental and oriental, turns, quietly smok- 
ing our cigarettes, and willing to allow others a part of 
the pathway. Whereas an Englishman, when he goes 
abroad, walks down other people’s streets as if he 
thought himself merciful in only knocking the owners 
into the shade instead of crushing them.’' 

“Well, I can’t say I am for England either,” said 
Johannis, diving his hands into the pockets of his blue 
cotton pantaloons. “ I always thought she was too 
fond of helping herself to parts of the globe which she 
had no right to, and of battering others into submission. 
But it cannot be denied that she is very rich and suffi- 
ciently attentive to the affairs of Greece. London, I 
hear on first-class authority, is a wonderful place. 
You know Marengo, the captain of the Iris , stayed 
there a week ; but he never once ventured out of the 
hotel alone, so frightened was he by the noise and the 
people. He solemnly swears he saw fifty trains steam- 
ing in and out of the station at the same time. It 
sounds incredible, but Marengo is positive. He counted 
thirty, but his head grew dizzy, though he saw he had 
only got through half the number. When driving he 
had to keep his eyes and ears closed, expecting every 
minute to be killed by the thousand cabs that whizzed 
round him as quick as lightning. He could not under- 
stand how the people managed to cross the streets, 
some of them a mile in width ! ” 

“You may believe half of what Marengo says, 


DAUGHTERS OF ME AT. 


153 

Johannis,” cried Demetrius, “he is an unconscionable 
liar. However, I have certainly been assured that 
London is a largest kind of town, perhaps a little more 
extensive than Athens, but then I never believe all I hear. 
I like to judge things for myself. Not that I have seen 
Athens either ; but I believe it to be the finest city in 
the world. Why, was not Athens founded long before 
London or Paris were heard of ? Do not people come 
every day from America to see it, and guardians have 
to be placed about the Acropolis to prevent strangers 
robbing its stones or relics? I would be glad if you 
could name a Greek who would go to London or 
America for a relic ! ” 

Demetrius looked as if he had sufficiently clinched 
the matter. If travellers come to Greece for a purpose 
which certainly does not inspire the Greeks to go to 
foreign parts, it clearly proves the advantage on the 
side of Greece. 

“True enough, Demetrius,” assented Michael, “and 
do we not know that Mr. Gladstone, the Prime Minister 
of England, is more anxious for our safety than that 
of his own people? And he would gladly exchange 
London for Athens to-morrow if he could, and mind 
you, he has seen both places. If we go to war this 
year, depend upon it, Mr. Gladstone will send us men 
enough to smash the Turks.” 

“We will accept England’s aid when we need it,” 
said the village Lothario, condescendingly, with a 
dramatic gesture, as he threw away the end of his 
cigarette. “But we know very well that three hundred 
Greeks are more than a match for ten thousand Turks, 
as they were for the Persians in the olden days.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


154 

Demetrius, you will perceive, was learned, and that 
was why he was president of the clubs. 

‘ ‘ Where are you going shooting to-morrow ? ” asked 
Johannis, who knew nothing about the Persians, and 
resented their introduction with the unreasonable jeal- 
ousy and bigotry of igorance. 

“ I am going to shoot round Koumara,” said Deme- 
trius, testily. 

“It’s poor shooting you’ll get there,” remarked 
Johannis. “I am going to Mousoulou. I shot a lot 
of wild pigeons there last Sunday and bagged larks and 
sparrows by the dozen.” 

In the meantime, through a running fire of continual 
comment, and under the gaze of every pair of eyes the 
village possessed, Reineke, conducted by the cheerful 
and voluble Aristides, was led down the torrent and 
round by the windmill upon the brow of the hill, to the 
little postern gate which led into Selaka’s vineyard, 
He was so exhausted that in dismounting he had to 
lean heavily upon Aristides, and slowly walked up the 
sloping path to the gate. It was opened by Annunziata, 
who flashed him a delightful smile of welcome, and at 
that moment Selaka himself hastened forward, and 
shook him cordially by the hand. But Reineke was 
too weak and fatigued to do more than smile faintly, 
and murmur some unintelligible phrase, upon which he 
was helped into the house, and there collapsed at once 
upon the sofa. Here we will leave him in the sleep of 
complete exhaustion, feeling shattered and bruised and 
as if a week’s sleep would be insufficient to recuperate 
him. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


55 


CHAPTER XIV. 

(From Reineke's Note Book.) 

MUTE ELOQUENCE. 

Contrary to my expectations, I awoke on the morning 1 
after my arrival at Xinara refreshed, with only that 
sensation of fatigue in the limbs that makes it delight- 
ful to lie perfectly still and revel in the luxury of home- 
spun and lavender-perfumed sheets. The bed was the 
softest I ever slept on, the room the prettiest and 
freshest I ever wakened in* Such light, such a cheer- 
ful display of linen as everywhere greeted my eyes ! 
In the garden, by the drawn blind, I could see Persian 
lilacs, in which the birds had evidently built their 
nests, and down among the trees of the orchards 
thousands of others seemed to have congregated The 
effect of their aubade on this lovely winter morning 
was curious. It began by a soft twitter, which grad- 
ually deepened its volume, until it swelled upon 
mighty waves and beat frantically against the silver 
gates of the morning in a shower of sound. It shook 
the closed shutters like hail that lashes the earth out- 
side. In the half haze of troubled sleep, I imagined, at 
first, that the heavens had suddenly opened in an un- 
wonted downpour, but as soon as I was thoroughly 
awake, and glanced upon the dim world which slowly 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


156 

unfolded beneath the light of the breaking day, I under- 
stood and recognised the cause of this patter against 
the panes. The increasing red of the east began to 
sweep across the pallid sky, washed the lingering moon 
white, and enriched the zenith with a dash of warm blue. 
I got up and opened the nearest window, and then lay 
back to follow the movement of that impetuous swell of 
music, sustained with exquisite orchestral harmony. 
The sound seemed to travel round and round ii\ a circle, 
continuously gathering force, and then burst into a flood 
of song. An indistinguishable tumult of wave with 
ever this strange, perpetual, circuitous movement, as 
if all the birds of all the gardens and woods had met, 
and were whirling round and round this spot of earth 
in some mad dance of wing. I think I must have 
slept again, or perhaps I lay in an open-eyed dream 
for some time. When I looked once more out of the 
window, I saw the bright pleasant little woman, 
who had welcomed me the night before, walk sturdily 
down the path that leads to the village, with her red 
water jar placed on her shoulder, one muscular brown 
arm flung round her head to support it. What a pleas- 
ure it was to watch her ! She looked so secure, so con- 
tented, so seriously active, and there was a light in 
her eye which betrayed something more than cheer- 
fulness, — a sense of humour, and a kind of still laugh 
just traced the faintest sympathetic line round the 
mouth. I supposed her to be the mother of that intoler- 
able youth who had led my mule last night, and who 
served me as guide in my most memorable ride. 

My restful solitude was broken by the entrance of 
Annunziata, carrying a little tray with coffee, an invit- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


'57 

ing roll called Koulouria, and some cigarettes. She 
placed it beside me, and then touched my hand softly, 
and stood and smiled upon me with maternal benignity. 

“You are rested, Kyrie?” she asked. 

“ Quite fresh, and ready for another ride/’ I answered, 
laughing. 

When I had partaken of this sober fare, she begged 
me to be still awhile, and held a light and a cigarette 
for me. I am fond enough of a recumbent attitude, 
and nothing loth, accepted the proffered sedative. 
Then she trotted off with her inimitable air of sturdy 
serenity, and hardly had she left me to my own con- 
tented thoughts when the door opened, and in walked 
Aristides. Is it not unreasonable to dislike a man, for 
no other reason than that his exterior and certain tricks 
of manner revolt you ? The fellow is really a decent 
fellow, but he has a way of lifting the pressure of his 
lithe frame from one foot to another, and of running 
his forefinger along his shapely nose, that provokes 
me to the verge of exasperation. I watch for these 
tricks with an unaccountable impatience, and when 
they come, I am invariably harassed with the sup- 
pressed impetuosity of physical rage, and expect before 
long to fling something at him. He entered the room 
with an air of polished familiarity, took a chair, un- 
invited, as if he were a prince of the blood whose 
condescension singularly honoured me, and smiled in 
large affability and tolerance as he began to roll a 
cigarette. After a pause he remarked casually, with a 
very apparent desire to set me at ease : 

“Vera nice counthry, Ingland, like vera much I do 
Ingleesh — large place, I hear.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


158 

I nodded, and patiently waited to learn why I should 
be attacked in execrable English. 

“I knew Ingleeshman in Smyrna. He vera nice 
man, touch vera well piano. You touch piano ? ” 

I admitted an innocent weakness that way, and con- 
tinued to smoke complacently, tickled by the humour 
of the situation. 

“You are Ingleesh, sarr?” 

“ I have not that honour.” 

“Ah, vous etes Frai^ais?” 

I failed to claim that great and much belauded 
nationality, whereupon Aristides, indefatigable in the 
pursuit of knowledge, and anxious to confound me 
with his linguistic skill, burst out radiantly : 

“Sie sind Deutsch. ” 

“ If you will condescend to speak your own language 
and spare me your exasperating murder of Continental 
tongues, it may be of some slight advantage to you and 
me,” I cried. 

My unaccustomed violence in nowise discomposed 
him. He proved his philosophic superiority by blandly 
smiling, as if to turn aside a wrath he considered 
childish and inconsequent, rolled another cigarette, 
leant forward, lit it, and observed, with an air of casual 
approval, that it was a pleasing surprise to meet a for- 
eigner who could speak Greek. He then proceeded to 
question me with the savage candour and curiosity of 
his race. He was eager to learn my income, its source, 
the cost of the clothes I wore, if they were purchased in 
Paris or in London, if I admired the Greeks and Greece, 
if I were married, or disposed to marry a Greek, if my 
parents were alive, and how many brothers and sisters 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN . 


159 

I had. To those singular questions I replied curtly, 
contemptuously resolved to see how far he would 
push his indiscreet investigations. Then when I grew 
tired, I proceeded to obtain a little information on 
my own account. From the communicative Aristides 
I learned that the amiable doctor, who so wisely 
recommended me the bosom of nature and innocence, 
is for inscrutable reasons recognised as the King of 
Tenos,thathe is a member of King George’s Parliament, 
and by claim of obstruction unillumined by a rushlight 
of intelligence or motive, is called the Parnell of 
Greece. 

My host, it appears, is a more interesting character. 
His attitude towards the moderns is that of unsparing 
contempt. He lives with the ancients, and entertains a 
very lively horror of that superior people, the French. 
His daughter is reputed to be a handsome and cultivated 
young woman, to whose hand every unmarried male of 
the island aspires. She has an exquisite name, Inarime. 
When I got rid of Aristides, I lay back and conjectured 
a variety of visions of the owner of such a name. In 
turn I dismissed from my mind the amiable maiden, 
the attractive peasant girl, the chill statue and the 
haughty pedant, the Arab, the Turk, the Italian of the 
Levant. Not one of these seemed to fit in with my 
ideal of Inarime, and the thought that she had left 
Xinara before my arrival fretted me strangely with a 
sense of baffled desire. 

“Just an old pagan philosopher,” Aristides had said, 
speaking of Selaka, “ who keeps the handsomest girl 
of Tenos locked away from everyone, as if a glance 
were a stain. He seems to regard her as a goddess, 


6o 


DA UGHTERS OF MEM 


and nobody here worthy to look upon her divinity. 
That is why he sent her away before you came. He 
distrusts you and every other Christian. Now, if you v 
happened to be a Pagan, I have not the slightest doubt 
he would be willing to marry you right off to 
Inarime.” 

Why should this impertinent suggestion of Aristides 
have shot the blood of anger and shame into my face ? 
And yet it did, and the heat remained after the fellow 
had left me to my own reflections. I do not think that 
I am specially nervous or sensitive, but the shock of 
that idea touched me with a force that made me shrink 
as from a prophecy. I dreaded to meet Inarime, and 
almost resented her exile on my account. There may 
be something flattering to our masculine vanity in the 
fact that a beautiful girl has been sent into banishment 
on our account, but this balsam did not heal a certain 
dull ache of dismay and resentment. 

In this unreasonable mood Selaka found me. He in- 
quired after my health with measured courtliness, and 
suggested a variety of additions to my comfort. I 
was dressed now, and reclining on a sofa. Without 
hesitation I followed his advice to breathe the air of the 
terrace awhile. The broad sunshine and the open-air 
serenity of the scene soothed and calmed me, and I felt 
I could have been content to sit thus for hours watch- 
ing the flapping shadows of the windmills upon the 
sunny hills, under the spell of the noon-day silence of 
nature. My host sat beside me, the inevitable cigarette 
between his fingers, with a sharp but kindly glance 
turned occasionally upon me. I imagine the question 
of my nationality was perplexing him, and he was, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


6l 


perhaps, seeking an occasion to elicit direct information 
from me on this point. But this did not conceal from 
me that the normal expression of his fine dark eyes 
showed the glow of an impersonal enthusiasm, doubtless 
lit by his long devotion to the ancients. By reason of 
his rough-hewn and unfinished features, he looked rather 
a simple good-natured peasant, removed from the sordid 
conflict and merely animal sensations of husbandry, 
than a learned pedagogue or an earth-removed phi- 
losopher ; a man fond of questioning the stars and his 
own soul, but not indifferent to the delights of shepherd- 
life ; capable of sparing a daisy and stepping out of the 
way of a burdened ant, when he walked abroad with 
Plato or Thucydides in his hand. It struck me that 
Inarime could be no vulgar glittering jewel to be thus 
carefully shielded from the irreverent gaze by this sage 
of Tenos. 

“ I think you cannot be French,” he said, at last. 

“ Reineke is a German name,” I answered, evasively, 
for it was not my wish to court coldness by an avowal 
of my nationality. 

“Ah, it is well. I do not like the French.” 

“ And yet your countrymen adore them,” I said, and 
laughed. 

“ So they do, so they do — to their sorrow and 
shame.” 

“ How can that be? Is France not admittedly the 
first nation of the civilised world ? ” I exclaimed. 

“ That depends upon what is understood by civilisa- 
tion. If you mean humbug, vice, vanity and bluster, 
infamous plays and vaudevilles, immoral literature 
generally, you may crown France with a triple crown 


62 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


of shameless glory. But if you mean truth, good 
manners, purity, sense and honorable restraint in all 
things, as the old world understood it, then France 
is below all other countries to-day. It is because 
Greece is so infatuated with France that I completely 
despair of her future.’' 

“It seems to me that you are charging an innocent 
country with the vices of a depraved town. France is 
not Paris, and Paris is the sinner.” 

“ Paris ! France ! It is one. The country looks on 
complacently, and approves the nameless follies of the 
city. It makes no effort to impede her fatal career, 
and is not dismayed to see her, with her band of 
lascivious poets and novelists, dance madly towards 
her doom, in the degradation of decay, with a weak 
and dissolute smile on her worn lips.” 

‘ Do you condemn all her writers? ” 

“Upon moral and artistic grounds I condemn all 
unreservedly. You are one of those who, perhaps, 
call Victor Hugo great. I do not. ‘ Words, words, 
words,’ as Hamlet says, and nothing to come at 
them. Chip away all the superfluous decorations and 
excrescences of ‘ Notre Dame,' and measure it by the 
severe restrictions of Greek Art. You have twenty 
pages, strengthened, purified, with only essential action 
and speech, instead, of two long volumes of intol- 
erable verbiage. No, sir ; France’s sentence has been 
pronounced. One day Germany will sweep her away, 
with her vices and her graces, and they, I admit, are 
many. She is in a debilitated and anaemic state, start- 
ing up in spasms of febrile vitality, and the sooner her 
destiny is accomplished, the better for us and all 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 1 63 

other such feebly imitative peoples. Have you stayed 
long in Athens ? ” 

“No, in fact I have seen nothing as yet of the 
town. ” 

“ Ah, then you have yet to learn why I, and every 
true lover of Greece, should hate the name of France. 
The men and women in Athens speak bad Greek, 
though there is no reason why their speech should not 
be as pure as Plutarch’s. Every one chatters in bad 
French, with what object it would puzzle the Lord 
himself to discover. The women rave about Ohnet, a 
vulgar writer whose style even I can know to be 
execrable. Like the illustrious Hugo, the men read 
Zola, and are thereby much improved. There are 
French vaudevilles and caf es-chaniants ; our army is 
superintended by Frenchmen, who draw large salaries 
for the privilege of laughing at us. Paris condescends 
to send our women its cast-off fashions at enormously 
disproportionate prices. Athens is, in fact, a small, 
dull, feeble Paris, — Paris in caricature, without the 
fascination of its many-sided life.” 

He stopped suddenly, half-ashamed and slightly 
flushed after his burst of indignation. When we had 
smoked a cigarette apiece, I made careless mention 
of his brother, and asked about his family. Con- 
stantine, he told me, had long ago married a hand- 
some Levantine who, after a few months of conjugal 
discord, had attempted to shoot him, and then betaken 
herself to Constantinople with a native of Syra. This 
disaster had naturally tended to convince Constantine 
of the nothingness of marriage, and he had since re- 
mained in single inconsolation. Pericles himself had 


164 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


been blessed with a wife, picked up at Ischia, as lovely 
in soul as in body, but here again was demonstrated 
the singular fleetingness of wedded bliss. This pearl 
among wives melted away in the crucial test of child- 
birth — and Selaka was left, bereaved and truly forlorn, 
with a baby girl upon his hands. 

Later on in the afternoon Selaka joined me, just as 
my senses were lazily shaking themselves out of the 
thrall of siesta. He asked me if I were interested in 
the study of ancient Greek, and upon my enthusiastic 
affirmative, his face brightened and his manner im- 
mediately assumed a cordiality and a pleasure that 
charmed me. He invited me to accompany him in 
his walk through his orchard and vineyard; and truly 
a delight it was to me to be brought face to face with 
a nature so simple and a mind so exquisitely cultivated 
as his. Perhaps it would be thought that such exclusive 
recognition of the past and such a profound and unutter- 
able contempt for the present were narrow and pedantic. 
That it tended to lessen his interest in humanity cannot 
be denied. But how very precious, from sincerity and 
un decorated speech, were the thoughts to which he 
gave expression during our leisurely walk ! Much as 
I delighted, however, in the ancients, and deeply inter- 
esting as was any discussion upon the old Greek 
writers, I could not get out of my head the one word 
“ Inarime.” I was haunted with the wish, nay, almost 
the need, to hear something of her, and at last, after a 
pause in our conversation, I hazarded the question: 

“ Is your daughter married ? ” 

Selaka fixed me with a quick, suspicious glance, and 
said, coldly, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


165 

“My daughter is young; it will be time enough yet 
to think of marrying her ! ” 

“Then she does not live with you?” I persisted, 
with pardonable indelicacy. 

“She is at present staying with her aunt at Mou- 
soulou,” said Selaka. 

I ought to have let the subject drop upon these strong 
hints, but I went on: 

“I am told she is very beautiful.” 

“You have been told the truth,” said Selaka. 

I saw that further questioning would be indiscreet. 
However discursive he might be upon the subject of 
the ancient Greeks, his reticence upon the subject of 
Inarime was not to be shaken. 

Thus passed my three first days in Xinara. Aris- 
tides invariably wounded and offended me by his im- 
pertinent freedom and his still more impertinent confi- 
dences. It appears Aristides is one of Inarimes ad- 
mirers, and being promoted to the rank of chief mule- 
teer to his mistress, naturally regards himself as 
having scored above all his rivals. The early morning 
was generally spent by me in exploring the neighbouring 
hills alone. In the afternoon I accompanied Selaka 
round his small estate. A tranquil, healthy existence 
it was, and under its influences my late fever and 
languor left me. With recurrent health I gained in 
vitality and spirits, and had I not been pursued by an 
indefinable curiosity — a sense of baffled hope, — I should 
ere this have been measuring my forces for a return to 
Athens. 

It was the fourth day since my arrival from Ten os, 


1 66 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


when I opened the door of the bright sitting-room with 
the intention of passing an hour or two among Selaka’s 
choice books. Looking out upon the desolate Castor, — 
seeming the more desolate because of the cruel joy of 
the sunshine that so ruthlessly exposed its empty flanks, 
my ear was attracted by the sound of hysterical sobbing 
and half-angry expostulation, that came from the 
courtyard through the opposite open window. I walked 
across the room, wondering what could have happened 
to disturb the active serenity of Annunziata. My eyes 
fell upon a village woman, whose withered, sunburnt 
face was lifted in tearful prayer to another, who sat 
with her back to me, leaning over a little table. There 
was somethfng exquisitely youthful and gracious in the 
attitude, — of majestic youth in the line of the figure 
clad, as I could see, in some dark yellow stuff. But 
the small head was completely hidden in a muslin 
kerchief of spotless white, with a Turkish border of 
yellow and crimson. 

There was a restraint and firmness — an unconscious 
grace in the pose, and I felt my pulses quicken with 
eagerness to see the face. Could this be a young judge 
measuring awful depths of iniquity in a criminal ? a 
cold Diana reproving undue tenderness, a wise Athena 
rebuking folly ? I listened. The villager’s brogue and 
voluble utterances were difficult to follow. But I 
gathered that there was question of a letter that had been 
written, and that the dictator’s mind had altered, and 
that she now wanted one written in an entirely different 
spirit. 

“I am so sorry, Kyria. He will never come back to 
me if he gets that letter, and what does anything mat- 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


1 67 

ter to me as long as he remains away? Tell him that 
I am not angry with him; that I will bear anything 
rather than that he should not come back to me. If 
he would only leave her and come away from Smyrna ! 
Tell him anything, young lady, that will touch him, — I 
am so lonely, so weary of waiting for him ! ” I heard 
the woman say. 

“But, my poor woman, what proof have I that, if 
I rewrite the letter in this new mood, you will not be 
sorry for the leniency in another hour, and implore me 
to write an angrier letter for you ? ” The voice was clear 
and soft, with a curious throat sound that somehow 
carried with it the idea of velvet. Something in it 
seemed to draw me with an ache of desire to see the 
speaker. I acted upon an unaccountable and irresistible 
impulse. It compelled me in a kind of dreamy expect- 
ation down the marble steps, and, standing with my hand 
upon the top of the pillar, close to her, my intense gaze 
was an equal compulsion to her. 

She moved her head round slowly, and our eyes 
met. Was it the shock of recognition, the awful bliss 
of surprised surrender, the force of revelation, un- 
dreamed, unawaited, yet not the less complete because 
of its suddenness, that held our glances in a steady 
dismay? 

I laid down my arms at once happy, contented, 
prone, in a sacred servitude; but she, I could divine, 
with the delicate instinct of maidenhood, strove to 
struggle and release her soul. But no effort of even 
her imperious will could move her eyes from mine, 
upon which they rested in the mute eloquence of 
dazzled entreaty, shining as if they were filled with 


1 68 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


light. And then slowly their golden hue faded into a 
wistful brown, and slowly, grudgingly drooped their 
lids, — and mine, as if by instinct, dropped. It was 
only afterwards that I could remember the glory of her 
resplendent youth, and dwell upon the flash of her 
great beauty. 

She laid her hand upon the head of the kneeling, 
sobbing woman, and said: 

“I cannot write your letter to-day, Katinko, but 
come to me at Mousoulou,” and then turning, looked 
at me again, this time with less trouble and dismay 
through the unfathomable tenderness of her gaze, — 
looked at me steadily, commandingly, unconsciously 
reminding me that she was sovereign lady, and that 
not one inch of her sovereignty would she forego for 
me. I humbly accepted the dismissal of her eyes, 
without a word of protest or prayer, though the pulses 
of my body rang with frantic urgence for both. I stood 
to let her pass me, and was strong enough to resist the 
temptation to touch her hand as a suppliant might, to 
prostrate myself before her as a servant. But no ; our 
attitude must be that of equals, something told me. 
If she be queen then must I be king; sovereign, too. 
Not servant, Inarime. King of you, as you, beloved, 
are henceforth queen of me ! 

I went to my room and tried to think. But thought 
was vain as action — I could only feel. Feel that I had 
seen Inarime; that my soul had touched hers; that 
there was henceforth no life apart for either of us. 
While I sat thus, dismantled of reality, and full of an 
overpowering joy, I heard the harsh voice of Aristides 
checking the impetuosity of his mule, and the words 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. x 6 9 

“Kyria” and “Mousoulou” caught my wandering 
attention. 

I drew near to the window in a thrill of alarm. 
Inarime was seated on the mule, with no other shelter 
from the beating sunbeams than the white kerchief 
bound round her head. A strong impulse swept 
through me to forbid this departure, to cry out passion- 
ately against the injustice of flight and desertion. But 
this folly would but imperil my position. What right 
had I to usurp authority and claim upon the surprised 
declaration of her eloquent eyes? And there came 
upon me a sense of the perfect tact of her action, its 
true fitness in accord with the dignity of her sex. 
Pursuit was for me, — not flight, but a delicate, cold 
aloofness was hers by divine privilege. Not other 
would I have her than sensitively alive to the grace- 
lessness of serene and easy conquest. And I was not 
hurt, was I, by this withdrawal from the new light of 
day, for her will must ever now be my own 


170 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XV. 

( From Reineke's Note Book. ) 

A SILENT BETROTHAL. 

When I joined Selaka in his afternoon stroll, he ap- 
peared to notice something different in my step and in 
my eyes. I felt myself as if I sprang rather than walked, 
and my glance saw nothing distinctly that it rested 
upon : it was impeded and clouded by the intense 
illumination from within. Yet never before did the 
bare, sunny hills look to me more lovely ; never did the 
Greek isles, rising above their happy waters like rose 
and mauve clouds upon a blue sky, seem more dream- 
ily enchanting. I remember nothing of our conversa- 
tion. I walked beside the old man, drunk with my 
own speechless bliss, and answered his questions at 
random. And all the while my soul sang aloud its 
paean, and the whole earth seemed to smile upon me 
out of one girl’s grave luminous gaze. Inarime ! It 
seemed to me that the sweet air trembled with the 
shaking impulses of my intemperate gladness. 

Two days passed thus. Blind and absent as I was, 
I could remark the sullen suspicion of Aristides’ manner, 
no longer vexing with its impertinent familiarity, but 
repulsing me with insolent sullenness. I paid no heed 
to this childishness. But I was struck with the fellow’s 
extraordinary penetration. Whence could he have 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


17 


divined there was aught in me to fear or distrust? 
There was something of the extreme fineness and sub- 
tlety of the animal instinct in his intuition, which com- 
pletely eluded my observation. But Annunziata simply 
attributed my restored strength and serene joy to the 
notoriously beneficial influences of mountain air. She 
always greeted me with her cordial smile, and some- 
times ventured to pat my hand in a motherly way. I 
delighted in her noiseless activity, and in her sturdy self- 
reliance. Tears for self I should imagine had never 
dimmed her bright black eyes, and the lines time had 
traced upon her brown forehead were not lines of pain and 
mental travail, but the marks of healthy, contented labour. 
It was a lesson to watch her carry her water jar from 
the village fountain, or lay the table, without hurry or 
anxiety, with the perfect ease of punctuality and order. 
Selaka, I felt, was studying me, half in perplexity, 
half in alarm, yet with increasing approval. He liked 
me, and with the days grew his cautious esteem into 
precipitate affection. 

On the third day from my meeting with Inarime, he 
joined me in the early morning, as I sat upon the ter- 
race, smoking and revelling in the lovely air. My 
heart could no longer bear this silence and separation, 
and my tongue at last resolved to give utterance to its 
urgent claim. 

“Will your daughter remain much longer at Mou- 
soulou ? ” I asked, conscious that my voice was un- 
steady from eagerness. 

“ I have not yet decided/' said Selaka quietly. • 

“Kyrie Selaka, I have a favor to ask you— the very 
greatest one man can ask another.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


T 72 

I looked round into his face as I spoke, and knew I 
was pale to the lips. 

“ You wish to see my daughter,” said Selaka gravely. 

“Nay, 1 have seen her. I want you to take me to 
her.” 

The old man sat for awhile motionless as a statue, 
then he rose, and paced the terrace in severe and 
anxious reflection. 

After a pause, that seemed to me interminable, he 
stopped in front of me, and looked in silence into my 
eyes. He shook back his head, as if he had come to 
a supreme decision, placed one hand on my shoulder, 
and held his beard with the other. 

“Why not?” he asked, and then sat down beside 
me. 

“That is not worthily said, Kyrie Selaka,” I could 
not help exclaiming, reproachfully. 

“I see. You think I should ask ‘why’ rather than 
‘why not,’” said Selaka, smiling softly. “And you 
are_ right ; it is ‘ why ? ’ ” 

“Why?” I cried, impetuously, “ because I love her, 
because I am hers, and’she, I know, is mine.” 

“Gently, my son, gently,” he interposed, laying his 
hand soothingly upon mine. “ It seems to me that for 
a German you possess a pretty lively and reckless tem- 
perament. That having looked upon my daughter, her 
beauty should fire your young blood with romantic 
aspirations, is but natural. That you should ardently 
wish to see her again, is as it should be. But that you 
should hurl yourself with desperate passion into this 
rash and unconsidered decision that you are hers and 
Inarime is yours — my son, my son, it is not thus that 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


*73 

I desire Inarime should be loved. From stormy scenes 
and the tempestuous fluctuations of passion would I 
jealously guard her, as from other noxious influences. 
The state of romantic love I regard, in common with 
all serious thinkers, as the very worst and most de- 
graded state of bondage into which man can fall. It is 
equally unreasonable in its sickening depressions and 
in its passionate anticipations. I can see that it is 
only fruitful in cruelty, in folly, in stupidity, in crime 
and reckless blunders. Its miseries are immeasurable, 
and grievously restricted is its circle of joys.” 

“ But surely, sir, it was with this kind of romantic 
love that you loved your wife, Inarime’s mother,” I 
retorted. 

“It was not so, my son. I loved her with the 
priceless affection that is based upon tranquil know- 
ledge, upon spiritual affinity and inalterable esteem. 
Had the Gods left her to me, very jealously would I 
have sought to preserve her from the wintry winds of 
sorrow and poverty, and harsh experiences. Dear to 
me was she, as a complete blessing, and profound was 
my grief when she was taken from me. But I did not 
pursue her with the unthinking ardour of a burning de- 
sire, nor was my soul consumed in its fires. I saw 
that she was good and serene, and her beauty was an 
added charm. I sought her in the noontide of life, as 
one seeks shade in the noontide of day.” 

“But, sir, I beseech you, do not judge us all by this 
high and inhuman ideal. We cannot all be sages. 
The passions will speak with terrible insistence in 
youth, however heavy a chain of habit and restraint 
may encompass them, and I cannot think there is 


174 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN 


aught unworthy or degrading in their petulant voice. 
We love not the less nobly and purely because passion 
is the font from which our love springs. If it prompts 
imperious exactions, may it not be that it urges sublime 
devotions? Man has nobly died for the sake of that 
romantic love you condemn, and what sacrifice can be 
finer than a woman’s surrender to it ? ” 

“There should be neither sacrifice nor death. Rea- 
sonable beings should strive to meet and fulfil the de- 
crees of destiny, in measure and calm acceptance of 
the laws of nature ; not upon any violent urgence of 
the emotions, allow themselves to be swept away and 
precipitated into depths like powerless leaves whipped 
by the blast.” 

“But if I recognise the decree of destiny that com- 
mands me to love Inarime, must I not obey it?” 

“Be temperate; that is all I ask of you. Be just, 
too, and as little foolish and indiscreet as it is possible 
for a young man so blinded as you are,” said Selaka, 
and I thought he did not look extremely offended or 
discomposed by my impulsiveness. 

“And when will you consent to put my discretion 
and my wisdom to the proof? ” I persisted. 

“To-morrow morning we will go to Mousoulou.” 

To-morroW, Inarime, to-morrow ! That was all I 
could think of as I sat and counted the hours, and my 
heart now sank within me in the complete prostration 
of yearning, and then rose to intoxicating heights upon 
the splendid wings of promise. I walked up and 
down the terrace all night, and watched the stars, as 
glorious and varied as the hopes that sprang and 
wavered and clamoured around me. Oh, the still- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


*75 

ness, the soft yet sharp enchantment of a night-watch 
upon an ^Egean island ! The distant murmur of the 
restless sea breaks the silence of the land, and the 
shadowy hills fall into the dense veil of the valleys. 
The charm -enters the soul like a pang, and it works 
upon the quickened senses with the subtle mingling of 
exasperation, of poignant and tranquil feelings. I felt 
chill as the twilight crept slowly over the night, and 
the stars began to pale and drop, one by one, out of 
the dim sky, like extinguished lamps, tracing a faint 
milky-way where their blue and golden illumination 
had been. Then quickly shot into the eastern horizon 
an arch of blood-red cloud, and showed the sea silver 
beneath it, and over this scarlet bridge appeared the 
sun, like a ball of living light ready to explode upon 
the pallid scene. And then the birds of the orchard 
began their piercing harmonies, and the wide spears of 
the grasses glistened with their crystal gathering of 
the night-dews. Day had come ; my day, Inarime, 
and yours. 

Contact with cold water did duty for sleep. I felt 
quite refreshed when I entered the little sitting-room 
where the coffee and Koulouria were served. 

“You are early/’ said Selaka, greeting me with an in- 
tangible smile, “and yet I am not wrong in believing 
you were walking on the terrace long after every one 
had gone to bed.” 

I nodded, and drank my coffee as if it were nectar. I 
almost choked myself in my eagerness to dispatch my 
Koulouria, and hugely pleased Annunziata by begging 
another cup of her excellent coffee. One has not just 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


176 

recovered from a fever and held a tryst with the stars 
without serious result to one’s appetite. 

After breakfast, under a delicately-clouded sky, we 
rode through the episcopal village of Xinara, this time, 
to my satisfaction, unaccompanied by Aristides. The 
narrowness of the passage compelled us to ride in single 
file until we had passed the bishop’s palace and all the 
gardens and pigeon-holed hamlets with their bright ter- 
races and flowers. We turned up off the path round 
the great Castro, which, near, looks even more impres- 
sive than afar, burnt red and brown with the sun and 
rain, the wild thyme making a purple and scented haze 
upon its enormous flanks. Skirting the ruins of Borgo, 
all the valleys and vine plantations and orchards, 
girdled with hill beyond hill, burst upon our view in a 
magnificent panorama. Everywhere the sharp contrast 
of silver, olive and blue sea, and beneath us a vein of 
humid light flashed and twisted itself like quicksilver 
through the plain, until a bar of rocks broke it into an 
impetuous’ descent of foam. Silence lay upon the land, 
and alternately soft and glowing colours were swept 
across the empty hills by the wind-pursued clouds 
and the variations of sun-fire. Here and there little 
petulant torrents dashed noisily down the precipices, 
to twine themselves in the valleys and resume their 
wild course, wherever the rocks rose and shot them 
into frothy music. As we rode through each village, 
the curs came out, and stood near a group of pigs to 
examine us with a depressed and listless air, or bark 
at us from the ledge of a rock in a half-hearted way. 
Children with matted hair and glances of dull curiosity, 
surveyed us gravely, and whispered their opinions, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


'77 


and the villagers stared at us with inconvenient can- 
dour and solemnity. As we neared Mousoulou, a fine 
mist began to fall from the upper peaks, like a thin veil 
gradually thickening until it enveloped the landscape 
in a grey pall. I enjoyed the prospects of damp moun- 
tain scenery, but I could see that Selaka, like all Greeks, 
was made unhappy and nervous by it. 

We reached Mousoulou drenched. A lover may be 
permitted to shrink from presenting the front of a water- 
dog to his mistress, and I was keenly relieved to learn 
that Inarime and her aunt were out when we arrived. 
An old woman welcomed us, and offered Selaka one 
sofa of honour and me another. We were administered 
a glass of cognac, then Selaka left me to listen to the wind 
howling furiously against the windows, bending the 
heads of the flowers on the terrace, and freezing my 
feet as it blew in under the chinks of the five doors that 
opened off the room. Undeterred by the rain, the vil- 
lagers came in batches to inspect the stranger — men, 
women and children. It was a kind of theatrical enter- 
tainment for them, with the agreeable merit of being free 
of charge, and they availed themselves of the occasion 
with great good-will. The delighted old woman stayed 
and did the honours of the spectacle, explained me and 
appraised me with refreshing candour, and after a burst 
of exclamations, they all stood round perfectly calm, a 
row of offensive statues. 

Can any reader, not experienced, possibly conjecture 
the nameless irritation of thus being silently, mercilessly 
stared at, and what black thoughts of murder may rush 
through the excited brain under it? I think not. When 
at last I had reached the white-heat of exasperation under 
« 12 


DA UGH TEDS OF MEN. 


178 

this awful Greek gaze, I rose and turned my back on my 
tormentors. 

The landscape was now folded in a grey mist, broken 
by the lines of the walls, the spires and perforated bel- 
fries. Out of this grey picture showed patches of brown 
earth and dark rock below the draped head of Mount 
Elias, and the trees looked like ghosts. The sky was a 
field of colourless cloud, and the flower-heads on the ter- 
race pierced the opaline vapour with eyes of brilliant re- 
proach. On a distant hill-curve a group of animals were 
shivering, and near by the raindrops made big pools 
upon the marble pavement. And soon the grey grew 
to opaque white, and rushed from the brow of Mount 
Elias like a swift cloud blotting out the meadows and 
valleys. Where was the glory of the morning ? And 
where was the warmth of my heart ? 

“Do you know, sir, that I am inclined to think that 
I have been quite long enough on view ? ” I cried, when 
Selaka returned. 

Selaka smiled, and I burst into an irritable laugh, 
which seemed to impress the audience in the light of a 
new act. They pressed nearer, and broke into inartic- 
ulate sounds of wonder and grave approval. I thought 
they meditated a general embrace, but they contented 
themselves with keeping the air from me, poisoning the 
atmosphere, and expectorating profusely. ' 

“Don’t you think, sir, that it would be possible to 
hint politely that the entertainment is over ? ” I pite- 
ously implored. 

Upon a word and gesture of authority, the audience 
straggled out, and doubtless held a parliament else- 
where to discuss the remarkable phenomenon. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


179 

“Surely your daughter is not out in this rain?” I 
asked, as soon as we were left to ourselves. 

“No, she is sheltering in Steni. She accompanied 
her aunt on a visit to a sick woman.” 

I looked round the large nude room, so chill and 
cheerless after Selaka’s pretty sitting-room. The floor 
was marked with the wet clogs of the recent explorers, 
and small rivers traversed it, flowing from our umbrel- 
las. The beams of the ceiling were supported by white 
arches, and vulgar Italian pictures hung upon the white- 
washed walls. It was the dreariest place possible in 
which to await one’s beloved, and then the sense of 
dampness, the deafening patter of rain against the 
windows, the wind roaring and rising in frantic gusts, 
and earth and sky one inextricable sea of grey ! 
Most utterly wretched did I feel. I had much to do to 
keep the tears of acute disappointment from my eyes, 
and depression settled upon me as heavy as the impene- 
trable vapours outside. 

The noonday dinner was served, and like a philoso- 
pher Selaka enjoyed the vermicelli soup, the pilau, and 
dish of larks stewed in tomatoes. I ate, too, mechani- 
cally, with my glance and ear strained in feverish inten- 
sity for the slightest premonition of Inarime’s return. 
And as we sat drinking our coffee I could see with rap- 
ture that the colourless mist was rolling rapidly off the 
earth, and above, delicately-tinted clouds were begin- 
ning to show themselves upon the slate ground. The 
sun peeped out through a blurred and ragged veil, and 
looked as if he intended to dry the deluged world, and 
pale gold streaked the jagged banks of red and yel- 


l8o 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


low haze. Down the village street came the sound of 
hoofed feet, and Selaka rushed forward. 

I went and stood at a window, and made a screen of 
the curtain. Selaka had promised, upon my insistent 
prayer, to leave me but one moment alone with Ina- 
rime before introducing me to her aunt. I saw a tall 
massive woman, wrapped in a blue cloak, enter, and 
deposit her wet umbrella in an opposite corner with 
maddening slowness. I glanced behind her, and 
here stood Inarime enveloped in some brown garment 
with a knot of red ribbon at her throat. She wore a red 
hood, and the moist air and quick ride had left the glow 
of a pomegranate flower upon her cheek. She stood 
in the middle of the room, and looked grave inquiry at 
her father. He nodded reassuringly, told her to wait for 
him there, and took his sister’s arm to lead her into the 
inner room. 

I came out of my hiding-place. There was some- 
thing so solemn, so ineffable in the moment, that I re- 
jected all speech as inadequate. I simply stood there 
looking at Inarime as I have never yet looked at any 
woman, and then I said : — “ Inarime ! ” 

I held out both hands. She turned, and without 
making any movement towards me looked at me. 
Again her eyes gave me the impression of eyes that are 
dazzled with light. They were clear as amber, crystal 
as her soul, and held mine in willing bondage. Before 
then my pulses had throbbed with expectation and 
hope ; now they were quieted, numbed almost by sheer 
intensity of feeling in the trace of gazing silence. 

“Inarime!” I said again, and this Jtime my voice 
dropped to a whisper. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


181 

Unconsciously she seemed drawn to me, and while 
our hands met and clasped, our eyes dwelt on each 
other in grave delight. 

“You have not spoken to me, Inarime,” I said. 

“Who are you?” she asked, as a wondering child 
might. 

“ Has your heart not told you, Inarime ? ” 

Something like fear and humble pleading strove with 
the mastery of her proud restrained expression. It was 
so new and perilous to her, that she hardly knew to 
what she might not have silently pledged herself. She 
^hastily withdrew her hands, but still her eyes rested on 
mine and sought solution in their depths. 

“Oh, I am afraid,” she murmured, and a wave of 
intangible pain swept over her strong face. 

“Not of me, Inarime ; not of me,” I entreated, and 
drew near to gather her hands again. 

Before either of us could realise or stay the volcanic 
influences that impelled us in an irresistible shock, my 
arms were round her and our lips were one. 

Here Reineke’s note book, of which I was glad to 
avail myself, grows too incoherent and impassioned 
for further use. The author will try to tell the rest of 
his story. 


1 82 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A REVELATION. 

It was unknown, as regards time, to Reineke and 
Inarime whether minutes or hours had passed before 
Selaka and his sister rejoined them. The massive 
woman looked sharply at Gustav, then nodded to her 
brother in emphatic approval. A keen and not unkindly 
glance took in the situation, and it was possible she 
liked Reineke all the more for the tell-tale colour that 
mounted to his cheeks under her searching inspection. 

“Now, rriy children/' said Selaka, with as near an 
approach to the ordinary gesture of rubbing the hands 
as a man so wedded to the customs and restraint of the 
ancients could display. Here was a son-in-law, if you 
will, not a popinjay from Athens, not a superficial 
European, not a gross Teniote ; but a man who was 
accustomed to deep draughts from the old founts of 
learning ! Whose youth still ran fire through his veins, 
while the beauty of his face was enhanced by a delicate 
suggestion of strength and burning life ! Yes, Selaka 
was thoroughly pleased with Gustav, and, in spite of 
his philosophic condemnation of the impetuosities and 
frenzied purposes of an age he had long since passed, 
something within him thrilled to their memoried delights. 
Upon reflection, he would perhaps have viewed less 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN . 


183 

enthusiastically the love of a saner and older man for 
Inarime ; and there might be moments of sceptical ac- 
knowledgment of the sage reticence and colder blood of 
the other different son-in-law he had dreamed of. There 
remained nothing now to be discovered but the pecu- 
niary circumstances of Reineke, and some slight know- 
ledge of his parentage. He looked very unlike a Ger- 
man, but German blood might be crossed as well as 
any other. Inarime had escaped, and Reineke stood 
, rivetted to the very spot she had left with a dazed look 
on his face as if he felt rather than saw. He was 
awakened from the dreamy sensations that enveloped 
him by the touch of Kyria Helene’s hand. 

“ Pericles tells me that you have come to take Inarime 
from us,” said she, and then nodded reassuringly to him, 
as if she thought it on the whole an extremely reason- 
able intention on his part. 

“I am glad you think me worthy,” said Gustav, with 
a foolish lover’s smile. 

“Oh, for that I don’t know; you may and you may 
not be. Young people must take their chance ; it’s for 
them to choose, and for them to decide. You are com- 
fortably off, I hope ? ” 

“Comfortably off!” burst out Gustav in radiant 
incoherence, “you ask a man to whom the gates of 
Paradise have been opened if he is comfortably off? I 
pray you, do not speak to me about it ; settle everything 
as you will, only leave me to my thoughts and my 
happiness.” 

This might suit a lover, but could hardly be expected 
to suit the young lady’s guardians. 

“That is very well, but I refer to your means of sup- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


184 

port. Are you in a position to maintain a wife ? ” 
asked the practical Kyria Helene. 

“I do not know/' said Gustav ; “I am accounted a 
rich man." 

“But do your people live in Germany ?” she pro- 
ceeded, catechising him severely. 

And then came the one great difficulty in Gustav’s 
path. Oh, if he could have abjured his nationality, 
gladly then would he have done so. A Turk, and to 
confess that to these Greeks ! — It seemed a horrible 
risk. Gathering all his energies together, he shook 
back his head defiantly, and rather gasped than said : 

“ No, my people do not live in Germany. I am not 
a German. I am a Turk.” 

“ A Turk ! ” cried the woman, and held up her hands 
in dismay and repulsion. 

To Selaka no word was possible ; for him the Turk 
was the symbol of all that is most hateful in his country’s 
past. He stood transfixed, staring at the young man 
whom a moment ago he had been prepared to take to 
his heart, and to whom he had so readily consigned the 
one treasure of his existence. No, that was not pos- 
sible. Inarime wed a Turk ! It did not seem to him 
that worse degradation could be for a daughter of free 
Greece ! Despite his contempt of the present, his pat- 
riotic pride was very fierce and unbending. He took a 
step nearer to Gustav, who was looking at him now 
not defiantly but imploringly, and said : 

“ There is surely some mistake. Perhaps you mean 
that you have been born in Turkey. But your name is 
surely German ? ” 

“No, my name is not German, I merely adopted a 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


185 

German name in coming to Greece so that I might not 
wound national susceptibilities, and bring upon myself 
unnecessary coldness. My name is Daoud Bey. 
Kyria Selaka, what difference can this make ? I loVe 
not Inarime the less because my people once oppressed 
yours. I am not responsible for the blunders of gen- 
erations. You do not surely imagine that I am less 
likely to cherish and reverence your daughter than one 
of her own countrymen ? Rather do I believe that the 
very fact of the past wrongs that her race endured at 
the hands of mine will add to my solemn charge on the 
day she entrusts herself to my care. That it shall not 
be for her grief you may believe, for I love her. Besides, 
you must think of Inarime, if even you refuse to think 
of me. For now she is mine, and nothing in regard to 
my nationality or race can alter that fact. You must 
accept it.” 

“ I do not accept it,” said Selaka, “ my daughter will 
not marry a Turk. I have said it. v Words of reproach 
for the lateness of the avowal were on his lips but he 
repressed the natural retort “you have deceived me.” 

“Is this your decision?” asked Gustav, growing 
chill with fright. 

“It is my decision.” 

“Then I will only abide by the voice of Inarime. If 
she bids me go, I will go even without her, but not other- 
wise. You may be her father, but I am her lover. 
You have the claim of long years of devoted care 
and affection, and I have but the claim of a moment of 
transcendent passion. But, sir, your claim weighed 
with mine would prove but a feather as opposed to the 
barque of love on the waters of destiny ! ” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


186 

“No, I think not/’ said Selaka. “ Inarime will see 
your race in her lover, and she will not take your name, 
whatever the effort of parting may cost her. " 

“ Kyrie Selaka,” cried Gustav, with frantic urgency, 
“I have but one request to make you, and you must 
grant it. Notone word of this will be uttered to Inarime; 
she will only hear from my lips of that which you regard 
as an impassable barrier to our union.” 

Selaka shot a swift inquiry in the direction of his 
sister. 

“I think,” said Helen, “we may accede to this 
demand. It is reasonable, and it does the young man 
credit that he should urge it.” 

Gustav looked his humble gratitude, and then went 
out on the terrace, which was nearly dry after the recent 
deluge. The wet leaves gleamed under their clear 
burden, while the damp air brought out all the ex- 
quisite odours of hillside and valley. Gustav could 
have almost laughed aloud in the surety of triumph. 
What could it matter to him the decision of two cold- 
blooded old people, who perhaps never knew the mighty 
force of love, or, having known it, had completely for- 
gotten it? He allow himself to be calmly divorced 
from his mate, and sit down tamely upon the sudden 
ruins of his life ! Such mad acceptance of the control of 
others might be befitting a phlegmatic Teuton, but it was 
quite incompatible with the fire of an Oriental. And, 
then, Inarime could not forsake him ; and this theory of 
race antagonism would be shivered on the first word of 
his that should fall on her ears. It would mean only 
a little delay ; some indecision, and perhaps some 
tears ; and then for them success lay ahead. Oh, why 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


187 

does nature give youth its volcanic impulse and its 
ardent impetuosity ! Strife, struggle, delay ! These 
but gave an added impetus to his passion. 

Flaming clouds shot from the west, heralds to pro- 
claim the sun’s departure in one burst of splendour. 
They touched the plane and pepper-trees with light, 
and spurred the lagging birds into song. A breeze, 
like a sigh after protracted sobbing, swept from the east, 
and met the moist earth with a throb of promise. It 
brushed past over Reineke’s hot cheek, and fanned his 
thrilled senses into exultation. A silent shout of defiance 
from the invisible host that march in the wake of 
triumphant love went up, and Reineke felt his heart 
impervious to doubt. He heard a step, a light, quick 
step that he should have recognised in a thousand, and 
it lashed him with insufferable force. 

“ Inarime ! stay ! One moment, beloved,” he cried, 
in a voice of prayer. 

That prayer was her command. She stood still, but 
did not dare advance lest answering passion should 
fling her in transport into his arms. 

They stood thus, trifling with the eternal moments, 
their aching glances rivetted as under the spell of en- 
chantment. Then he moved towards her, and her 
hands met his in silence. 

“You are mine, Inarime,” he said, in a whisper. 
“Nothing now can alter that.” 

“Nothing. ” 

It was hardly speech. Her lips moved, but it was 
her eyes that spoke. 

“Say it aloud, beloved, that all may hear it, and 


i88 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, \ 


know that you promised, — the earth, the trees, the 
birds and the departing sun. Aloud ! Aloud ! ” 

“lam afraid ! Can I know ? Who are you ? Tell 
me, tell me.” 

She retreated, but held him with the bewildering 
tenderness of her glance. 

“Your lover ! Lord of you, my lady. Inarime, your 
husband. ” 

“I love you,” she cried, and covered her face with 
her hands. 

“My own ! Your eyes spoke first. I knew it. 
Nothing shall part us. Say you believe it.” 

“ I cannot ; but I love you.” 

He drew nearer, and his dark, impassioned gaze 
flamed fire into hers. His breath was on her hair, and 
he held her hand to his lips. 

“Oh, my beloved, thou art the eye of my soul, the 
voice of my heart,” he burst out, incoherently. At that 
moment of high-wrought sensation and terrible sin- 
cerity, he could no more hold Eastern metaphor in 
abeyance than he could bid his gaze close upon the light 
it avidly drank — as sun-drained flowers drink dew. The 
restraints of European customs and education were 
broken and overtopped by the strong heat of passion, 
and wild words gushed upon its wave. 

“ Inarime, Inarime, thy slim fingers are the rivets 
that bind my willing feet to high service. Command 
me ! Anything, I pray, but silence and averted looks. 
Withhold me not thy promise.” 

“I cannot,” she said again, startled by his out- 
burst. 

“Nay, thou art offended. Oh! blind me not with 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


189 

thy anger, Inarime. But as thou wilt. Thy anger will 
I bear rather than that thou shouldst leave me. 0 fair 
one, O desired of my life ! Thy kiss upon my eyelids 
shall be as the dawn of my Paradise. Be to me, sweet, 
as an angel of morning. Lift the gloom and fever of 
unsatisfied longing from my heart. Be to me as the 
sun, moon, and stars to this earth of ours — light, life, 
warmth, and colour. I grow chill with the fear of thy 
unwillingness, Inarime. Worse than perpetual deaf- 
ness were to my ear thy ‘ nay. ’ But ‘ nay ’ it cannot be, 
beloved. Thou lovest me. The light has shown it in 
thy eyes. My voice has revealed it on thy face. Mine 
art thou, O Inarime, and by our love must thou 
abide. ” 

“Can I promise, not knowing? But I love you/' 
she cried, and her voice rose in passionate protest, as 
though she felt the blood of feeling rise within her like 
a mighty sea and encompass her to her doom. 

They looked at each other an instant gravely — a look 
of immeasurable love ! And while the flaming heralds 
were ebbing back into the sea, and the sunken sun fol- 
lowed them through a bed of crimson and orange, 
drawing a purple pall over his vacated place, these two 
were locked in each other’s arms. Hush, foolish birds! 
There is no song of yours sweet enough to pierce their 
ears. The harmonies of love have swelled upon the 
silence, and its song is measured by their heart- 
beats. 

Inside, two others were holding sharp counsel over 
the destiny of this miserable privileged pair. 

“Can nothing satisfactory be settled, Pericles?” 
asked Helene. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


I90 

“Certainly. He goes,” retorted her brother, bring- 
ing down his upper lip shortly upon this unpleasant 
decision. 

“ But he is rich, Pericles. Be a sane father for once 
in your life. A rich man! Panaghia mou! You are 
an idiot.” 

“ He is a Turk.” 

“ Oh, a Turk ! Never fear, I will keep a careful eye 
upon him. With me there will be no danger. He 
will neither desert Inarime, nor outrage her with other 
wives.” 

“I have not thought of that,” said Pericles, reflec- 
tively. 

“ Dystychia mou! that is the only thing to be feared 
in wedding a Turk,” remarked the practical Kyna 
Helene. 

“It is a side-issue, important, I admit, but below 
the main barrier. I had forgotten, however, that the 
sentimental and impersonal side would be the one 
least likely to touch you, Helene.” 

“Sentiment and impersonality won’t find your 
daughter a suitable match, I can assure you,” said 
Helene, wisely. 

“True enough. But you are ever there, my sister, 
to shunt the train on to the proper line when you de- 
tect a tendency to divagation. ” 

He smiled sadly as he spoke, for his heart was torn 
with the torture of the coming severity for those tender 
young people outside. He heard the ardent murmur of 
Reineke’s voice, and his eyes filled with tears. But he 
knew that there were no words the lover could utter 
that would make him abandon his first decision. That 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


I 9 I 

Inarime would seek to shake his resolution he had no 
fear. Was she not Greek of the very Greek ? 

“Well, and what are you going to do, Pericles?” 

“ Inarime will stay here with you, and he will return 
with me to Xinara at once. Tell your servant to call 
for the mules. Ten minutes more will I give them, 
and then their parting is irrevocable.” 

“ But if Inarime loves this young man ? He says she 
does.” 

“Trust her to me. It will be a wrench, but she will 
get over it. I will take her to Athens, and through the 
Peloponnesus. New scenes will heal the ache of a 
young heart.” 

Meanwhile, the two outside had dropped from the 
pinnacle of hardly conscious bliss. She knew his name 
now, and was standing with one hand stretched across 
his breast and resting upon his shoulder, and their 
speech was a happy murmur. No thought of separa- 
tion here. A life together was what they were speak- 
ing of when Selaka interrupted them. 

“My children, it is time to part,” he said. 

“ To part ! ” cried Inarime. “Then I am not to re- 
turn to Xinara to-night with you — and him?” 

“ You are to stay here, and he is to go. Have you 
not told her ? ” he demanded sternly of Reineke. 

“Nay, sir, consider. Had I time? Can I tell her?” 
Gustav pleaded, with a broken voice. 

Inarime looked from one to the other. In the dusk 
the light in her lover’s eyes seemed to baffle her search- 
ing gaze, and she approached her father a step, her 
glance still wedded to Gustav’s. 


192 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“ What is there to tell me ? ” she commanded of 
both. 

“ He is a Turk, my daughter. There can be nothing 
between you,’' said Selaka, sadly. 

“Oh, father ! That may not be. 1 love him, his 
lips have sealed my promise upon mine. I cannot now 
take back that which I have given. You do not for- 
sake me ? ” she cried, turning to Gustav, in an impulse 
of childish yearning. 

“ I ! Inarime ! ” 

His throat rose and choked further speech. He held 
out his arms, and her head sought protection on his 
breast. 

“Inarime, are you not shamed? Leave that man's 
embrace. What! do you not see in him the long years of 
servitude and degradation under which your country 
groaned? Are you less proud, less worthy of your 
glorious ancestors than the Greek woman who flung 
herself and her babes from a rock into the engulfing 
sea rather than yield to Turkish embraces ? Does Hel- 
lenic blood run so sluggishly in your veins that re- 
volt does not cry for shame ? Come to me, my daughter. 
That man and you must part.” 

“ Have pity, sir, I beg you,” almost shouted Gustav, 
lifting up his head, which had been bent upon the girl's, 
and still holding her form closely to him. “ Is there no 
eloquence in her tears? Can I say naught to shake 
your harsh resolve ? ” 

“Naught. Young tears are soon dried. Inarime 1 ” 

She lifted her head from Gustav’s breast, and held her 
throat to keep back the fierce sobs that shook her. 

“Father,” she said, “have I ever disobeyed you? 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. v 1 93 

Have I ever once deliberately thwarted or offended 
you ?” 

“Never, my beloved child, never. To me you have 
been a reward and a support.” 

“Then, father, by that past unblotted by tear or 
wrangle, by the memory of my mother, by your own 
vanished youth, I beseech you, spare me ! I love him, 
father, leave him to me,” she cried. 

Her hands were in Gustav's, and her praying eyes 
pierced the heart of Selaka. 

“My child, you know not what you ask. I tell you, 
the man is a Turk. It is mad, it is base of you to be 
willing to give yourself to him. Do not force me to 
renounce you.” 

She dropped Gustav’s hands, and her face was 
blanched in a transport of pain. 

“Oh, father, blame me not. Your voice has never 
yet been harsh to me. I am young. Show me some 
pity. Think what it is, on the threshold of life, to be 
asked to relinquish life’s best happiness. Plead with 
me — you,” she urged Gustav, her brows drawn in one 
line of repressed anguish. 

“ Sir, is there any sacrifice you will be satisfied with 
as a proof that for her sake I must utterly renounce my 
nationality ? If I adopt Greece as my home, and your 
name instead of mine ? Inarime is my life, my world, 
my future,” cried Gustav. 

“ You are a Turk. You cannot undo or alter that 
fact.” 

“Father, I cannot give him up,” said Inarime. 

“ Then you are dead to me. Choose between 
us, my child. Marry him, and go hence without a 

»3 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


194 

father. Drop your past, and take up your future alone.” 

“ Oh, sir, this is a cruel choice for so tender a 
daughter. I cannot allow it,” Gustav protested. 

“It is my decision. Choose at once, Inarime.” 

“Leave you, father, or leave — him?” she said, 
slowly, dazed with the stress of the moment. 

She looked from one to the other, and then with a 
little sob flung out her arms towards her father, her 
eyes fastened in piteous entreaty on Gustav’s. 

“You will forgive me,” she whispered to Gustav; 
“ you will understand ? My father ! I cannot leave 
him. He cared so greatly for me. It would be 
wicked. It would be cruel. He is old. We are 
young. Oh, dear God, help me ! ” she cried, in shud- 
dering sobs, but when her father approached to touch 
her, she shrank from him in a kind of dismay and 
repugnance. 

Shaken by an answering force of agony, Gustav was 
on his knees before her, kissing her dress, her feet, her 
icy fingers. She trembled, and a wave of colour spread 
over her face as she stooped and pressed her hands 
against his wet eyes. 

“ Dearest, it will be worse for me,” she murmured. 

“It is monstrous. I cannot, I will not accept dis- 
missal. Youth is the time of ardent purpose and revolt. 
Every nerve in our bodies, every beat of our hearts 
must revolt against such cruelty. Your father must 
relent if we both join against him.” 

“I will not relent. Stand up, Herr Reineke. Accept 
your sentence like a man, and be not less brave than a 
mere child.” 

Thus chidden, Reineke stood up, like one struck 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


195 

mortally. His glance never left Inarime’s and both 
were filled with an unfathomable tenderness. 

“ Go, my daughter, to your room. This gentleman 
and I will start at once for Xinara.” 

Inarime made a step back towards the window, 
her face still turned to Reineke’s, as a flower’s to the 
sun. 

“ Inarime ! ” cried Gustav, and in an instant she had 
bounded across the terrace, and was clinging to him 
as if for sheer life. 

“You see, sir,” said Gustav, looking up triumphantly, 
when their lips were parted. “ Love is ever con- 
queror. ” 

“ I think not. My daughter, say at once, is this our 
parting — our last parting and our first ? ” 

Inarime lifted her head and removed her arms from 
her lover’s neck. She gazed questioningly at both men, 
begged for pity from the one, and for strength from the 
other. 

The old man was sad and stern, as immovable as his 
own great Castro. Gustav’s beautiful Eastern face was 
aflame and radiant in youth and strength and passion. 

Could she forsake the old and worn ? 

“Not that, father, not that,” she cried. 

“Then leave that man and go inside.” 

“ I will obey you, father,” she said. “Farewell,” 
she cried, turning to Gustav, and with one long look 
she passed from the terrace. 


196 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

PARTED LOVERS. 

The last word has been spoken, the last look ex- 
changed between the lovers, and the wrench of parting 
is over. Gustav declined to accompany Selaka back 
to Xinara ; he was too shaken for society other than 
his own. Inarime had bent to her father’s decision, 
and had accepted the sundering of their lives. More 
than this he hardly knew. 

When Selaka rode down the village, Gustav followed 
on foot, and knew not whither he went, — content to 
drift along without purpose or desire. Yet he dreaded 
the weakness of succumbing to a merely whimpering 
sorrow. That something had gone from him to which 
he clung with a kind of frenzied fervour he felt, but he 
was resolved that the sense of desolation should not 
conquer him. He had said that he would accept his 
fate at Inarime’s bidding ; now, that that fate seemed 
harder than human endurance, it was not for him to 
rebel in impotent anguish, but to endeavour bravely to 
face the empty world. 

As he entered the village of Stem*, he saw a little 
band of villagers approach the Greek church, and, 
hardly knowing why, he followed them. The church 
was lit, and in the middle upon a table was a tray of 
sweets and two long candles, upon which rested two 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


197 

wreaths joined by a long white ribbon. Pricked by 
the dull curiosity of a man who no longer feels inter- 
ested in himself, he pushed his way on up the church, 
lounged against the pillar and gazed with a strange 
calmness upon the ceremonial, that soon began. No 
one who saw him would interpret his impassivity of 
attitude and look as the despair of a suddenly wrecked 
life. 

The man beside him, standing with his hat on his 
head, and wearing the preoccupied air with a visible 
nervousness that usually betokens the happy man upon 
the portals of marriage, was a mere village clod in an 
unpicturesque European garb, who stood beside his 
best man waiting for the bride. A stout, plain, village 
girl was ushered into the church in a whirlwind of 
excitement, surrounded by a circle of feminine satel- 
lites. She neither looked at the bridegroom, nor at any 
one else, but kept her eyes fixed in sullen acquiescence 
on the ground. 

She wore a bright-coloured kerchief on her head, 
with a band of coins round her forehead ; and a pro- 
fusion of jewellery decked her muscular throat and 
arms. Very expensively and tastelessly was she ar- 
rayed, and most miserable did she look in her finery. 
The fixed misery of her face interested Gustav, who 
naturally thought it quite in keeping with the lesson of 
life, that every one should look wretched. Three 
priests advanced to wed this uncomely couple, and the 
evolutions that followed struck Gustav with astonish- 
ment. He listened to the priests as they droned out 
the wedding service, and held the Gospel now to the 
bridegroom’s lips and then to the bride’s ; and so on, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


198 

three times ; watched them place the long lighted 
tapers in the hands of each ; watched the pair give and 
accept rings, and passively submit to the decoration of 
the wreaths of artificial flowers, exchanged three times 
upon either head. 

Involuntarily Gustav smiled at the grotesque sight 
presented by the village clod in his wreath of roses, 
and then marvelled when the priests and principal per- 
sonages, with their attendant swains and nymphs, 
caught hands in a circle, and danced with inconceiv- 
able gravity round the table backwards and forwards 
three times, the bride and bridegroom still wearing 
their look of dull wretchedness. Good heavens ! Was 
this the kind of ceremony he would have been bound 
to go through in his marriage with Inarime ? to find 
himself hauled round a table, as sailors haul in the an- 
chor, bound in that degrading fashion with roses ! It 
was some slight salve for his wound to gaze in con- 
tempt at this pastoral introduction to marriage, and 
when a little mischievous boy upset the tray in order 
that he and his friends might taste of its contents in the 
scuffle that ensued, and was frantically cuffed and 
sworn at by the angry priests, Gustav burst out into 
gloomy laughter, and made his way as well as he 
could out of the church. 

He walked down the darkened street heavy-hearted, 
thinking of Inarime ; he dropped into the rough decline 
that leads to Xinara, and mingled with the sad images 
of the day were the cruel dulness of the bride’s face and 
the tame acceptance of the bridegroom. After all, 
perhaps it was so ; this might be the symbol of mar- 
riage, and not the high ideal he yearned for. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


199 

Under a rocky projection he saw a man who had 
been pointed out to him as a semi-idiot. An ambitious 
mother had sent him as a lad to Marseilles ; thence he 
had made his way up to Paris ; and now this was his 
state. Three years of stormy life in that nefarious 
city had turned a bright lad into a bald, aged idiot, 
only twenty-five, looking more than fifty. He was 
staring stupidly down through the thickening shadows 
to where the sea beat against the distant shore : star- 
ing out from the barren island that oppressed him ; 
living acutely and horribly in memory. 

Comforted by the sight of a fellow-sufferer, Gustav 
stopped and said good-night. The wretched man 
glanced at him in dreary reproach. 

“It used to be good-night over there in Paris; the 
boulevards were lit and there were laughter and gaiety 
around, happy voices, music, cabs, and pretty women. 
Plere nothing, nothing, nothing, but the everlasting sea 
and sky and the pathless mountain sides. Don’t say 
good-night to me, sir, I am dead, irretrievably damned, 
damned, damned in hell ! ” 

Gustav thought he was not the only living man who 
thought this world a hell, and turned round by the 
desolate Castro. He climbed up the rocks, overjoyed 
by the sensation of complete discomfort, of torn hands 
and bruised members. Then he stretched himself on 
the top of the rock, and looked out across the shadowy 
waters. The first faint glimmer of the crescent shone 
in the glossy sky, and the stars looked like drops of 
fire hanging above the world. There was no sound 
save the far-off-roar of the waterfalls thundering down 
their marble rocks, or the musical clang of the goat 


200 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


and sheep bells as the shepherds gathered in their 
flocks for the night. Sometimes a light flamed from a 
distant window. Gustav thought of old stories he 
had read, in which maidens placed lights in their win- 
dows to light their lovers, or wives as a message to 
their husbands. The loneliness of his future broke in 
upon him in a flood of self-pity. There was only one 
window he wanted to see lighted for him, and that 
now would be eternally dark. Tears sprang to his 
eyes, and then, fearful of the horror of the gathering 
outburst he felt within him, he jumped down the rocks, 
now sliding, now racing on, tangling his limbs in the 
bushes and furzes, and shot down the path that hung 
over the little village of Xinara. 

Demetrius saw him pass with flying feet, with set 
lips, and unseeing eyes ; and the popular shop-keeper 
turned to -his patient satellites, Johannes and Michael, 
and observed : 

“ He’s been to Mousoulou ; I heard it all ; the wed- 
ding takes place immediately.” 

“ He’s a good-looking fellow,” said Johannes, appre- 
hensive of the reception of this innocent remark from 
so susceptible a leader. 

“As for that, yes, and he’s getting a good-looking 
wife, though she does dress outlandishly, and turns 
up her nose at my stuffs. She got that yellow gown 
at Syra, and I can’t say I admire the big buttons she 
wears.” 

“Well,” said Michael, reflectively, “she is a very 
learned young woman, and writes very fine letters for 
our women. I don’t know what they’ll do when she 
goes away. I know my girl in Constantinople won’t 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


201 


be in the way of hearing much from my wife.” 

“Ay, that’s so,” said Demetrius, “she’ll be missed 
as letter-writer, and I’m not so sure that the place 
won’t seem a good deal smaller and duller when we’ve 
not her handsome face to look at.” 

In the courtyard Gustav brushed up against Aristides, 
who glared at him and muttered a curse as he removed 
his frame from the doorway, where he had been airing 
his ill-humour for the benefit of Annunziata, busy 
making the new Misythra. 

“ Here he is,” he said to his good-tempered listener,* 
engaged just then on the delicate process of straining 
off the sheep’s milk and tying up the remainder of 
clotted cream tightly in a linen cloth. 

Gustav strode up to her and said in an unfamiliar 
voice, chill and remote like an echo : 

“ I am going.” 

The pleasant old woman laid down her jar, dried 
her hands, and took hold of his, tightening upon them 
with an inspiriting and sympathetic grasp. 

“My poor child, may God and His saints go with 
you ! I know all. By my faith, I see no reason why 
you should go. The Turk, we know, is a heretic, but 
you would marry my Inarime according to the Greek 
rite. You would be faithful to her as a Christian should 
be.” 

“Faithful!” cried Gustav, vehemently. “Gladly 
would I die for her.” But he did not see that of the 
two this is much the easier to do. 

“Yes, yes,” said Annunziata, “young men in love 
talk very tall ; when the fit passes, they do very little. 
But I like you, and I am sorry for you. Go away 


202 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


now ; it is better so. Be assured that your interests 
here will not suffer by being left in my hands.” 

The tears were perilously near his eyelids; he strug- 
gled with rising emotion, flung himself round, and in 
a moment his figure made a vanishing and graceful 
shadow in the upper air. Selaka was within, pacing 
the room in perplexed thought, when the young man 
entered. 

“Sir, is this your last word? Must I go and not 
bear with me the hope of returning?” demanded 
Gustav. 

“You must,” said Selaka, gravely, “ you cannot undo 
your birth, nor can I.” 

Gustav waited not for another word, but rushed into 
his room, hastily gathered his things together, and 
reappeared in the little parlour with his portmanteau in 
his hand. He stood in front of Selaka, and looked at 
him steadily. 

“ Should this grief be too much for her ? ” 

“She is strong, and she is brave,” said Selaka, “and 
she will overcome it.” 

“Good God! ” said Gustav, “have you no thought 
of the girl’s heart? Are there forces in nature, think 
you, to dispel or even dull its yearnings ? Is there 
ever a barrier to the union of two souls ! What you 
play with is her happiness, for the sake of your own 
patriotic pride.” 

Selaka did not answer, but covered his eyes with 
his hand, and said : 

“It must be so. We are bound irrevocably by ties 
nearer, more sacred, than any impulse of nature. 
There are animosities that cannot shrink and vanish 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


203 

under such considerations as you urge ; there is a deg- 
radation that cannot be faced by any free spirit ! Un- 
der other circumstances, I should have regarded your 
marriage with my daughter as an honour for me 
and a happiness for her. But that is at an end. You 
will go hence, and you will forget us, but you may 
believe that our kindest wishes will follow you where- 
ever you may go.'’ 

They shook hands, and thus they parted. Gustav 
found Aristides waiting for him outside, with a mule 
for himself and a donkey for his portmanteau ; and 
through the increasing darkness and the shadows of 
night, which lay like extended wings on the landscape, 
they rode silently down into the town. 


The next morning Pericles was shaken out of his 
moody disappointment by Constantine’s wild letter 
written the night before his duel with the lawyer Stav- 
ros, and an accompanying note from the brave Captain, 
dwelling pompously on his gallant demeanour, and 
explaining that the wound, the result of an awkward 
shot, was not in the least dangerous, but simply trouble- 
some, and that the presence of Dr. Selaka’s family in 
Athens was desirable. 

“The very thing. Inarime needs a change,” Peri- 
cles cried, brightening at the prospect of getting outside 
his daughter’s grief. 

He and Inarime embarked from the little pier for 
Athens late that afternoon, and it seemed to him a hope- 
ful omen that the forlorn girl looked about her with 
eyes of interest. 


204 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


BOOK III. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

RUDOLPH AND ANDROMACHE. 

New Year’s Eve at Athens by the Greek calendar. 
The long street of Hermes was an execrable confusion 
of the mingled sounds of loud chatter, laughter, jost- 
ling and popguns. Everybody was buying monster 
bouquets for presentation on the morrow. Sensitive 
nerves were laid prostrate in shivering ache by the din 
of squib and rattle, and the intolerable and unceasing 
explosions, and the raw colours were an offence to the 
eye. But the unfastidious Greeks were drunk with ex- 
citement and pleasure. They proudly carried the pur- 
chased bouquets with which the New Year’s greetings 
were to be exchanged, ate sweets, laughed hilariously, 
and took their jostling very good-naturedly. All the 
booths erected on either side of the street were covered 
with flowers, and men went about bearing aloft long 
poles to which bouquets for sale were affixed, — and these 
wands wore a curious triumphal aspect. Oh, the dolo- 
rous strangeness and multiplied effects of an Oriental 
town in holiday attire ! Its clamorous and enervating 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, \ 


205 

gaieties, and its exasperating want of tone ! Think 
of it with a strong sun beating down upon it, with not 
a touch of shadow or repose to soothe the pained eyes, 
with incessant speech clanging and clattering through 
the air, and every delicate sense affronted ! 

Foreigners and natives were abroad to view and 
drink at this local fount of joy. One group we rec- 
ognise. Rudolph Ehrenstein elbows his way through 
the crowd and turns protectively every moment to 
his delighted and staring companion, Andromache with 
the March- violet eyes, whom we last saw with shamed 
and drooping head flee Madame Jarovisky's ball-room. 
How well, and young, and prettily infatuated the 
pair look ! And there is the glorious Miltiades behind 
them, bearing on his arm his portly and panting 
mother. Was there ever conqueror so irresistible? 
ever hero more gallantly conscious of his heroism ? 
The spectator thought of those hapless five thousand 
Turks, and shuddered ; heard the ostentatious rattle of 
his spurs, and that terrible weapon of destruction hang- 
ing from his side in the eloquence of war ; looked at 
the scarlet plumes nodding above his noble brow, 
measured the awful imposingness of his tall slim form 
in the sombre simplicity of the Artillery Uniform and 
his long military boots, and rejoiced that Providence is 
good enough to limit the number of such heroes, else 
would surely be exterminated the horde of non-heroic. 

This slaughterer of Turks was now content to be re- 
garded as an amiable slaughterer of women. Twirling 
his fierce moustache, with a casual eye upon the 
young couple in front, he was looking round eagerly 
in search of his latest victim. Miss Mary Perpignani, 


206 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


while his mother breathed shortly on his arm, and 
kept muttering, “Poh ! Foh ! Poh ! what a crush ! ” 
while she vigorously fanned and rubbed her sallow 
face with her handkerchief. 

Above the foolish pair in front, Love’s star shone 
with a very gentle fulgence. Just a sense of delicious 
trouble, unmarred by any passionate impulses, stirred 
Rudolph. There was a delicate fragrance of homage 
in his shy and boyish fancy. It was a happiness, ex- 
quisite in its completeness and unexactingness, to be 
with Andromache, to listen to her voice and look 
quickly, with the tell-tale blood of fervour in his face, 
into her pretty eyes, his own shining and candid and 
content. Was there ever a sweeter, more innocent 
idyll ? and the pity was that these two should not be 
allowed to run smoothly and trustingly into the shade 
of forest depths and live the life of nature, with no 
knowledge of the shabby compromises of civilisation 
and the more turbulent emotions of the heart. 

He called her Mademoiselle Andromache, and with a 
look of shyest prayer had prevailed on her to call him 
sometimes Monsieur Rudolph. But the Monsieur and 
Mademoiselle tripped by with alarming facility ; the 
tongue dwelt and faltered and whipped scarlet colour 
into each susceptible cheek. upon the Andromache and 
Rudolph. Fluttering, foolish, happy creatures ! If pulses 
never beat less innocently, and senses never stirred 
more rapturously, the period of loverhood would indeed 
be a spot of Arcadia upon the rough road of life. 

“Does all this not make your head and eyes ache, 
Mademoiselle Andromache ? ” he asked. 

“No,” said the Greek maid, untroubled by nerves, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


207 

and smiled in healthy admiration. “ Are not the bou- 
quets pretty ? ” 

“If you think them pretty, they must be pretty," 
said Rudolph, striving loyally to see their beauty. “ I 
am glad you like flowers.” 

“Why?” asked Andromache, meeting his eyes con- 
sciously. 

“Because there are such quantities of flowers about 
my home in Austria. It is a lovely place, Mademoi- 
selle Andromache. Imagine a great forest, so silent 
and shadowy. Oh, if you could see it in the moon- 
light ! The trees drop silver, and fairies seem to play 
among the branches'. I wish I could show it to you, 
take you to see the haunted well, and show you my 
mother's favourite walk. You would have loved my 
mother, dear Mademoiselle Andromache. She was so 
good, so sweet, so gracious. Oh, it was a bitter loss to 
me. I cannot accustom myself to it. Sometimes I 
wake up at night and fancy I hear her enter my room, 
and feel her soft kiss on my forehead — and it is dreary 
to know that it is only fancy.” 

His voice shook and his clear eyes clouded. An- 
dromache involuntarily pressed his arm in sympathy, 
and when he looked down upon her he saw responsive 
tears tremble on her lashes.- 

“Dear Andromache,” he said, in a whisper, “you 
make me feel less lonely. Ah, how my mother would 
have loved you ! ” 

And then these shy young persons, desperately 
afraid of each other and of themselves, rushed eagerly 
on to impersonal ground. 

At the Byzantine church of Camcarea, which quaintly 


208 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


obstructs Hermes Street, they were jostled out of sight 
of their escort, upon which Kyria Karapolos was 
thrown into a state of voluble alarm. 

“Where are they, Miltiades? Panaghiamou! An- 
dromache alone with that young man ! Come, Milti- 
ades ! I shall have a fit if they have gone far. ” 

“It is all right, mamma,” laughed Andromache, 
behind them. “ We were pushed off the pavement, 
and had to let some people pass.” 

And then she glanced roguishly at Rudolph, and 
another rivet in the chain of intimacy was added by a 
sense of peril and crime shared between them. 

“Very well, Andromache. You will stay with me 
now, and Miltiades will bring back Monsieur Ehren- 
stein to drink coffee with us later.” 

The impenitent ruffian, who had endangered her 
daughter's reputation, took his dismissal gaily enough ; 
bowed low and smiled delightfully upon both ladies as 
he took the arm of the stately and stalwart Miltiades, 
and stood for them to pass : 

“ Je crois c’est assez,” said Miltiades, with a com- 
prehensive glance up and down the noisy street, which 
had the bad taste not to show the piquant face of Miss 
Mary Perpignani. 

Rudolph, to whom the Captain’s limited vocabulary 
in French was a source of perpetual amusement, inti- 
mated his concurrence with this opinion, whereupon 
they ruthlessly beat their way down to Constitution 
Square. 

“ Voulez-vous un cafe et cigarette ?” asked the Cap- 
tain, touching the back of a chair, and the droll anx- 
iety he displayed in uttering this simple demand 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


209 

sent Rudolph into an explosion of appreciative mirth. 

“Non, non, chez-vous, j’aime mieux,” said Rudolph, 
indistinctly, between gasps of laughter. 

Miltiades frowned, and held his head high with a 
proud, hurt air. His French might be imperfect and 
his enunciation laborious, but he was not the less for 
that a hero. By the grave of Hercules ! was he to be 
flouted and mocked by a young jackanapes from Aus- 
tria ? 

“ Mais, mon ami, il ne faut pas se facher,” cried 
Rudolph, full of remorse and apprehension. “Ah, si 
vous saviez tout,” he added, and forced Miltiades to 
stop and shake hands with him. 

But how to unbosom oneself to a desired brother-in- 
law without a common tongue ? His Greek was even 
more limited than the other’s French, and of German 
the gallant Captain’s knowledge was restricted to the 
convivial “Trinken Sie Wein,” and “Hoch.” But 
despite the difficulties in the way of conversation, the 
young men were delighted to be together. 

Miltiades chattered Greek, and looked eager inquiry 
at Rudoph who nodded significantly, and was as vol- 
uble and communicative in French. 

What they said neither knew, but a gleam of intelli- 
gence broke the not unpleasant darkness occasionally 
for Miltiades, in such pregnant words as “ votre soeur, ” 
“j'aime,” and “epouser.” 

“He wants to marry Andromache,” thought Milti- 
ades, drawing himself up, and looking very grave and 
responsible. “ It would be a splendid match for her, 
but his uncle will never consent to it. However, I’ll 
give conditional consent.” 


14 


210 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“ Vous. — epouser ma sceur, Andromache? ” he said 
slowly, as he faced Rudolph with the heaviest air of 
guardian. 

“Justement, Monsieur. Je le desire de tout mon 
coeur, cried Rudolph, flaming suddenly. 

“ Ah,” said Miltiades, pausing, and holding the suitor 
poised on the wing of awful suspense. “ Votre oncle ? ” 

Here Rudolph broke out into vehement protestations 
regarding which notone word did Miltiades understand. 
They turned up one of the openings off Stadion Street 
that led direct to the Lycabettus, and here they met 
little Themistocles, as fresh and dapper and dainty as 
if he were ready for exhibition on a toy counter. 

Miltiades collared him forcibly, and explained the 
extremity of his need. Charmed by the possession of 
this sole superiority over the warrior, which his fluent 
French gave him, little Themistocles lifted his hat, and 
twirling his cane with an air of graceful ease, placed 
his services as interpreter at the disposal of Monsieur 
Ehrenstein. 

Thus was cleared the fog of doubt and perplexity. 
The Jovelike brow of Miltiades smoothed, and the light 
of approval beamed softly in his dark blue eyes. Little 
Themistocles minced, and smiled affectedly, and 
shrugged his shoulders to an incredible extent, until the 
inferior glory of the Parisian dandy was totally eclipsed. 
And Rudolph, now that the fatal leap was taken, was 
full of vague apprehension and nervous tremors. Was 
he quite so sure as he assumed to be that he had the 
right to dispose of himself thus ? But Andromache was 
so pretty and tender, and he so greatly loved her ! 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


21 1 


The enchanted brothers, for once partners in feeling 
and idea, hurried him up the steep, unpaved streets, 
laughing boisterously as they jumped the flowing 
streamlets that intersect them, and when they reached 
the glass door of the beloved’s home, Miltiades rapped 
sharply againbt the pane. 

“ Maria, tell my mother to join us in the salon,” he 
said. 

“Kyria, you are wanted in the salon,” shouted 
Maria from the passage, shaking her hair out of her 
eyes the better to stare at Rudolph. “I’m thinking it 
is Andromache he wants, and not the old lady,” she 
muttered. 

Kyria Karapolos came puffing excitedly from the 
dining-room at the end of the passage, followed by 
Julia, who wore her sulkiest air. 

“ You are not wanted, Julia,” cried Miltiades, striding 
into the salon, his sword and spurs making a fearful 
clatter along the floor. 

“ You are not wanted, Julia,” echoed Themistocles, 
vindictively, eager to air his own special spite under 
the cover of Miltiades’ command. 

Miltiades frowned and glowered upon him. He 
resented the liberty of spurious authority in his presence, 
and a repetition of thunder irritated him. But Rudolph’s 
presence checked his anger, and when the suitor, the 
reigning sovereigns and their humble interpreter were 
seated, there were perfect serenity and dignity in his 
bearing. 

“Monsieur Rudolph Ehrenstein wants to marry An- 
dromache,” he said, opening the proceedings. 

“ Panaghia mou!" cried Kyria Karapolos, with a 


212 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


look of unutterable astonishment at an announcement 
hourly expected. 

“He says his uncle will not object, and cannot 
practically interfere/’ Miltiades explained. 

“And that he is rich enough to dispense with a 
dowry/’ added Themistocles, thereby bringing upon 
himself a lightning-flame of contempt from the hero of 
Greece. 

“ Panaghia mou ! But I am rejoiced. My dear 
Monsieur Ehrenstein, you are charming. I am happy 
to give you Andromache. Oh, but this is a blessed 
moment for me ! ” and with that she rose, and emphat- 
ically embraced poor Rudolph, whom the ordeal ren- 
dered giddy and awkward. This was the signal for 
general demonstrations of affection. Miltiades shook 
hands, and kissed the cheeks of his future brother-in- 
law, and little Themistocles did likewise. 

“Order coffee and liqueur, mother/ said Miltiades. 

“You are very amiable, Rudolph said, gratefully, 
disturbed by the trouble of the moment. “1 am sure 
it will be my pride and happiness to deserve your good- 
will in the future.*’ 

Kyria Karapolos returned with Andromache, and 
announced that the refreshments of jubilation would 
shortly appear. 

“Andromache, behold your husband/ exclaimed 
Miltiades, with a slightly theatrical flourish. 

Whereupon little Themistocles sighed profoundly, 
and retreated to his own chamber to vex the sunset 
with strains of his asthmatic violin, to muse upon his 
misery and think of the young lady in the next street. 
With a significant nod, Captain Miltiades marched away 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


213 


to imaginary glory, and Kyria Karapolos, in a kindly 
impulse, found a pretext for a short absence in the 
necessity for Julia’s presence. 

How frightened and shy two confiding y.oung people 
can be when first confronted with the horrors of a tete- 
a-tete. 

Andromache was ready to sink with shame, and 
Rudolph’s heart was in his boots. He looked at her 
with piteous entreaty, but her lashes rested upon her 
cheek. 

“ Andromache, you are not afraid of me, you do not 

like me less because — because ” and there was 

something extremely like fear in his own voice and 
in the tender imploring of his eyes. 

“ Oh, no, but I do not know what to say,” whispered 
Andromache, still studying the Smyrna rug at her 
feet. 

“ Look at me, Andromache, and say — say some- 
thing kind.” 

She lifted her eyes, and they were filled with pas- 
sionate admiration : 

“Say that — that you love me.” 

“I love you,” she said, with adorable simplicity. 

“Oh, Andromache,” he cried, suffocated with a 
sudden thrill, and advanced nearer with outstretched 
hand. 

But she retreated in visible dread. 

“May I not have your hand, Andromache?” 

She gave it, still shrinking, with averted face. 

“Won’t you call me Rudolph, dear Andromache?” 

“Rudolph,” she whispered, and their eyes met lov- 
ingly. 


214 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM. 


Emboldened by his success, he raised her hand to 
his lips. 

“What a pretty hand, Andromache! You are so 
pretty, dear one. I love you,” he murmured gently, 
and steps were heard outside. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


2I 5 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A CRUEL UNCLE. 

What are the forces, and on whose behalf employed, 
that trouble the smooth current of true love? We have 
seen one pair cruelly separated, and now must these 
innocents be subjected to infamous treatment? Has 
the sentence from the beginning been- irrevocably pro- 
nounced, that if both Adam and Eve prove faithful and 
worthy, their Eden cannot escape the serpent? Must 
their bliss be poisoned either by the reptile of Fate or 
by themselves ? Poor sorry lovers, there is no peace, 
no security for you, even in romance. Your only 
chance of permanent interest lies in the mist of misfor- 
tune. The moment you bask in cloudless content, 
the wings of poetry are clipped, and your garb is the 
insipidity of commonplace. 

The bolt of Destiny was sEot from the blue of dreams 
next morning, when Rudolph was banqueting bliss- 
fully with his uncle and aunt at the midday breakfast. 

“Rudolph/’ said the enemy, in amiable baronial 
form, “ your aunt and I have arranged a charming sur- 
prise for you.” 

Rudolph looked up quietly, without a smart of pre- 
monition, and smiled his pleasantest. 

“ That is kind, uncle. And the surprise ? ” 

“Well, seeing how bored you are here — and, really, 


2 1 6 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


my dear boy, I am not astonished — we are going to 
take you on an exciting voyage through the Pelopon- 
nesus. We will show you all the historic spots/’ 

“ But, my dear uncle, I have no desire whatever to 
see the Peloponnesus or any historic spots,” exclaimed 
Rudolph, paling before the vision of himself wandering 
away from Andromache. “ I hate history, and don’t 
care a straw for the ancient Greeks.” 

“Oh, Rudolph, don’t show me that I’ve built my 
hopes on you in vain,” exclaimed the baroness, in 
cheerful dismay. “I have been counting on you to 
explain everything to me. Your acquaintance with 
school books is so much more recent than mine, and the 
baron is even more hazy in his recollections than I.” 

“ I am very sorry to disappoint you, aunt, but I can- 
not leave Athens at present. I am not bored, uncle, I 
assure you. I am very happy, and I love Athens.” 

The baron looked at him sharply, and thought he 
wore much too happy an air. 

“ Rudolph, I entreat you — if I were not so massive, 
1 would kneel to you,” cried the baron, in mock prayer, 
“ allow us to drag you away for one solitary fortnight 
from the enchantress, Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhu- 
ber. I admit that our society and the sight of historic 
spots will prove an inadequate substitute for her charms 
and fascinations, but humour this whim' of two old 
people, and your return to the feet of the yellow-eyed 
witch of Academy Street will be the more delightful.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, uncle,” protested 
Rudolph, with a look of startled anxiety. “I have 
not seen Mademoiselle Natzelhuber since Madame 
Jarqvisky’s ball. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN . 


217 


“Not possible? Good gracious ! that one so young 
should be so faithless ! The contemplation of the per- 
fidy of my own sex, Madame, fills my eyes with tears. 
But no, I apprehend. It is merely the refined hesita- 
tion of innocence. He sighs at her door — serenades 
her — have you not, Madame, remarked a tell-tale look 
about his violin ? — and consumes quantities of paper. 
Well, I shall see that there are at least a dozen quires 
of note paper, of the very best quality, stamped with 
the family coat-of-arms, placed in your portmanteau, 
Rudolph, and your aunt and I will retire discreetly into 
the background while you compose your flaming 
epistles and frantically adjure the moon and stars in- 
stead of Mademoiselle Photini. 

“ * Ma Photini, prepare ta toilette, 

II y a un mois que la mienne est deja faite ; 

Mes beaux habits, mes seuls habits, 

Voila. un mois que je les ai mis.’ 

There are some verses, ‘une invitation au mariage,’ of 
which I make you a present. You didn t know that I 
sometimes perpetrate impromptu verses ? Good, aren’t 
they ? ‘ Ma Photini,’ ” he began again, singing the lines 
to an impromptu air, seemingly unconscious that the 
crimson of anger had mounted to Rudolph’s brow. 

“You must not tease the boy, ’’said the baroness, 
maliciously. “Remember, you were once in love 
yourself.” 

“With you, Madame, before me, as a substantial 
testimony of that pleasant fact, I do not see how I can 
forget it,” smiled the baron. 

“ My dear baron, our Rudolph well understands that 


V 


2 1 8 DA ughters of men. 

that is not the sort of love he is pricked with. But, 
seriously, my dear child, you must not abandon us. 
A young man loves and he rides away — for a time — 
which does not in the least prevent him from riding 
back again, also for a time. Don’t you see? The 
Natzelhuber won’t die meanwhile.” 

“Aunt, I cannot understand why you should talk in 
this way about Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. Let me 
positively state that she is nothing to me, nor am I 
anything to her,” cried Rudolph, testily. 

“Poor Mademoiselle! I weep for her,” said the 
baron. “And there is that wretched Agiropoulos 
stamping and swearing about Athens, plotting duels 
and blood and the Lord knows what, protesting against 
yellow-headed Austrians and amber moustaches. Dear 
me ! That such noble indignation, and a jealousy 
with a fine mediaeval flavour in it, should be wasted ! 
Well, it is settled. If you have got over that little affair 
of the Natzelhuber, any scruples I may have cherished 
against tearing you away from the violet-crowned city 
— vanish. So, my nephew, you will get yourself up 
in that fascinating green coat and the long boots to- 
morrow morning, and we will begin by Marathon.” 

The baron had finished his coffee and cigar, and 
stood up with a gesture clearly indicating that the mat- 
ter was settled. His mocking smile struck Rudolph 
coward, and though his heart clamoured for open recog- 
nition of Andromache, he was unable to force his tongue 
to break a silence he felt to be mean and unmanly. 

“By the way, Rudolph, we have invited the Foreign 
Legations to dinner at Kephissia, and there will be an 
expedition before dinner to Tatoi. The young people 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


219 

will ride, and the elder ones will go by carriage. We 
start at four, so you will not forget to look your best, 
and do your utmost to entertain Mademoiselle Veri- 
tassi,” said the baron, from the door. 

This last shot broke the deeps of holy indignation 
in the lover’s heart. The Karapolos dined at half-past 
one. It would be discourteous to call earlier than three. 
And how much time did that leave him for Andromache ? 
and he would be dragged away from her on the mor- 
row. He looked so candidly miserable and disap- 
pointed, that his aunt went over to him, and kissed his 
forehead. 

“ Is it your wish, aunt, that I should go with you this 
afternoon? Could I not join you later in time for 
dinner at Kephissia ? ” 

“You poor child ! ” exclaimed the baroness, tenderly, 
smiling to herself to think that he imagined them 
ignorant of his secret, and that it should be so easy to 
manage and thwart him, 

“ No, no, Rudolph. It would be an affront to our 
guests. You are like the son of the house now, and your 
presence is indispensable to the young people.” 

Rudolph sighed, and kissed his aunt’s plump hand 
in piteous and dumb eloquence of protest and acquies- 
cence. His eyes were full of tears as he stood at his 
own window, and gazed like an angry, disappointed 
child across the lovely hills and sudden sweeps of 
empty plain. Why had he not spoken ? Why had he 
not asserted himself? A man on the brink of marriage 
ought surely to be able to take on himself the responsi- 
bility of speech and decision. But there was the mock- 
ing smile of his uncle that lashed him into petrified 


2 20 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


cowardice, like a well-bred taunt, and flushed him like 
a buffet, and how to make these worldly relations un- 
derstand the charm of innocence, the fragrance of a 
violet, the beauty of an untutored heart ? 

Punctually at three o’clock, he rapped with his silver- 
handled walking-stick upon the glass door at the foot 
of Lycabettus. He had learnt to ask in Greek for the 
ladies, and with a stare and smile of frank familiarity, 
Maria supposed it was Andromache and not the others 
he wanted. The Austrian aristocrat, to whom all 
evidences of democracy and ill-bred freedom were 
repugnant, reproved her with a slight touch of haughty 
insolence, and pointedly repeated his wish to see Kyria 
Karapolos and her family. 

Kyria Karapolos, the fair young foreigner, is here,” 
shouted Maria, and left him to find his way into the little 
salon. 

“My dear Monsieur Ehrenstein, it is a pleasure tome 
to welcome you,” said Kyria Karapolos, hastening to 
join him. 

Her French was fluent, but droll enough to make con- 
versation with her a surprise and a puzzle. 

“ I have come to tell you that my uncle and aunt 
have planned an excursion to the Peloponnesus, and 
they insist on my accompanying them,” Rudolph began 
at once, very dolorously indeed. 

“Well, of course you must please your uncle and 
aunt. It will make them the more disposed afterwards 
to assent to your happiness. Here is Andromache. 
Monsieur Ehrenstein has to leave Athens for a little 
while. It is quite right. He must not displease those 
who stand to him as father and mother.” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


221 


Andromache blanched to the lips, and then a wave 
of red flowed into her face. Rudolph felt that he loved 
her more than ever, and while he held her hand, a smile 
struggled through the pain of his eyes. 

“It is so cruel to have to leave you just now, An- 
dromache. ” 

She dared not trust herself to speak, for she hardly 
knew how much it is permitted a modest maiden to say 
to her lover. But her pretty eyes said a great deal 
more than she dreamed. Rudolph looked into them, 
and a happy light broke over his face. 

“You grieve too, dear,” he said, softly. 

“Must you go, Rudolph?” she asked, tremulously. 

“Shall I go, sweet friend?” 

Andromache looked question at her mother. 

“Of course he must,” cried Kyria Karapolos. “It 
would be folly to anger or thwart them in the be- 
ginning. Besides, it won't be for long, and we can 
be getting things ready for the wedding in the mean- 
time.” 

“Am I to go, Andromache?” Rudolph still asked, 
holding her shy glance boldly with his own. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

She took a little roll of embroidery from the pocket 
of her apron, and applied herself to it eagerly, but the 
needle pricks marked tiny spots of red along the cam- 
bric. Rudolph noted this, and anxiously cried out that 
she was hurting him. Andromache looked up in 
amazement. 

“Don't you understand ? ” asked this youth, suddenly 
growing subtle. “It is my fingers you are so cruelly 
pricking with that sharp needle.” 


222 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN \ 


Andromache flashed him a joyous smile, and he bent 
forward, and held both her hands to his mouth. 

“I love you, I love you,” he murmured, fondly. 

“ Rudolph,” she said, and dropped her eyes. 

Kyria Karapolos thought proper to strike this grow- 
ing heat chill with a sound commonplace, by asking 
him if he had much land in Austria, and what was the 
exact amount of his rent-roll. 

“I belieye it amounts to five thousand, but my 
steward manages everything for me. You may be 
assured, however, that I have quite enough for An- 
dromache and myself, ” answered Rudolph, simply. 

This drove him to describe Rapoldenkirchen, and he 
necessarily rhapsodised over its loveiiness, and the 
happiness that awaited Andromache in that shadowed 
home. And there in front of him was the clock sum- 
moning him from heaven ; it already pointed cruelly 
to the stroke of four. He stood up and announced his 
hurry, shook hands with Kyria Karapolos, and held a 
moment Andromache’s slim fingers, looking sorrow- 
fully into the shining March-violets he felt an irresistible 
impulse to kiss. 

“You will think of me every day, dear?” 

“I will, Rudolph.” 

“Whisper. Am I very dear to you ? ” , 

“Oh, Rudolph, I love you, " she cried, and broke 
down in simple passion. 

He stooped hurriedly and pressed his lips to her hair. 
In another instant he was outside, tearing madly down 
the rough streets, splashing his boots and clothes in the 
little streams, jumping over groups of astonished babies, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


223 

and racing, as if pursued by furies, past the Platea 
Omonia and up the Patissia Road. 

There was a carriage outside the Austrian Embassy, 
and just as he got inside, a group of riders bore down 
towards it. 

“Monsieur Rudolph will be down presently/’ the 
major-domo explained, in answer to the irritable in- 
quiries of the baron. 

When Rudolph descended to the hall in his charming 
riding attire, the baron surveyed him with a curious and 
amused smile, and nodded approvingly. 

“There are some young ladies for you to look after. 
Spare them, I entreat you,” and, in reply to Rudolph’s 
questioning look, added, “Young ladies, you know, 
are weak and susceptible, and you wear an abominably 
victimising air.” 

Rudolph jumped into the saddle with a very apparent 
want of alacrity. Mademoiselle Veritassi smiled him 
welcome, and unconsciously he took his place beside 
her. Three carriages carried the elders, and the party 
of youthful riders nearly made the dozen. The air was 
blithe, the sun shone gloriously and struck the land- 
scape lucid green. The young blood of the impressible 
Rudolph mounted to his head. The laughter of his 
companions imparted its contagion to his bereaved 
heart ; on he rode with spring running music through 
his pulses, and caught by the mirth of the landscape. 

The young people showed no destructive tendency 
to break into couples, but kept one gay and impregna- 
ble party, laughing, joking, careering in hearty rivalry 
to see who should out-distance the sedate carriage-folk, 
chattering nonsense and enjoying the hour with the 


224 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


frenzied intensity of unperturbed youth. Mademoiselle 
Veritassi made a delightful companion, with the charm 
of a well-bred boy, courteously brusque and quizzically 
candid. 

Under the fire of her imperious glance the sundered, 
dolorous air dropped from Rudolph, the wine of life 
coursed vigorously thro'ugh his veins, and he shouted 
laughter with the rest. They skirted the stations of 
upper and lower Patissia under the blue shadows of 
the Parnes mountains. The marble of Pentelicus, struck 
by the quivering sunbeams, broke the delicate mist afar. 
On either side, the long waste of olive plantations toned 
the joy of the scene by their sad colour, and brought out 
the contrast of the emerald grasses of the underwoods, 
and the variously-tinted reeds that edge the torrent of 
the river Cephissus. The little German village ofHera- 
clion showed white and yellow, with solemn spaces of 
cypress, upon the sky of clear, unshadowed blue. Flocks 
of white and black sheep were like moving mounds 
upon the fields, and over all hung Pentelicus, a haze of 
grey heather and dismantled branches where its mar- 
bles were not a dazzle of whiteness. Rudolph was en- 
chanted with everything — with the blurred hillsides and 
the murmuring streams that curled in soft swirls along 
by the hedges, with the goatherds following their capri- 
cious charges, — the villagers, burnt brown, in the glory 
of fustanella, scarlet fez and smart jackets, their long 
sleeves hanging back like idle wings, — with the boys 
and their donkeys, and the women in embroidered coats 
and muslin head-dresses. 

At Kephissia it was obligatory to dismount and hunt 
for the grotto of nymphs, and then talk nonsense be- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


225 


neath its dripping rocks and curtains of maidenhair. 
It was even compulsory to taste of its water, and the 
French viscount made a gallant allusion, and quoted 
the inevitable line from Homer. Then on up the 
straight road to Tatoi, the arbutus in full fruit, and on 
either side exquisite varieties of shrub and leaf and 
winter flowers. The young ladies were eager to feed 
on the arbutus, and sent their escorts to gather this 
ethereal nourishment. And when they were replen- 
ished, and satisfied with the smirched and bramble- 
torn condition of the cavaliers, they decorated their 
bosoms with the berries, which showed like balls of 
blood upon their sombre habits. All this necessarily 
involved much explosive mirth and many inarticulate 
cries. And men and maidens rode on, convinced there 
is no delight to match a ride through winter Athenian 
landscape, when the heart is fresh, the eyes are clear, 
and the senses near the surface ; when, above all, there 
is plenty of arbutus-fruit for the gathering, cavaliers to 
tear their gloves in its search through the bushes and 
brambles, and attractive maidens to wear and eat it. 

What more potent than youth’s wild spirits ? At dinner 
it was impossible to say whether the young people or 
the old, to whom they had communicated their irre- 
pressible gaiety, were the more intoxicated. What 
amazing tact and calculation were displayed by the 
Baron and # Baroness von Hohenfels ! Well they under- 
stood the impressionable and susceptible temperament 
they had to deal with when they gathered together these 
gems of their society. Such brilliant eyes and laughing 
teeth gleaming above the flowers, such whiz of airy and 
unseizable nothings shot high on the wings of badinage, 

15 


226 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


with the same intangible flavour as the foam of cham- 
pagne which plentifully drowned them. All seemed 
specially conspiring to captivate the poor bereaved lover. 
And so well did they succeed, that he quite forgot An- 
dromache. It was only after dinner, when Mademoi- 
selle Veritassi was invited to sing, and selected some- 
thing weakly sentimental in French, all about hearts 
and sighs and tears and parting, that the new-born babe, 
the infant Cupid, began to clamour and blubber within 
him. Then he turned aside to think of Andromache. 
He pressed his head against the window, and stared 
blankly out upon the hotel gardens drenched with 
moonlight, the flowers washed of all colour in their 
bath of silver. 

The baron saw him in this doleful attitude, and 
coming up behind him, held one hand sentimentally 
upon his heart and the other stretched out, in frantic 
adjuration to the moon. 

“ Ma Photini, prepare ta toilette, ” he sang. 

Rudolph faced him angrily, barely able to restrain 
the strong exclamation that rushed to his lips. 

“No, I have just made better, that is, more appro- 
priate verses. Mademoiselle Natzelhuber is notorious 
for not greatly caring for dress. Then it is clearly an 
offence to mention it. ” 

Rudolph muttered the German equivalent for “bosh, ” 
and walked away. 

Has any philosopher deigned to discover the reason 
why, when a party of young folks start upon a boister- 
ous expedition, and laugh until the woods resound 
with their mirth, the return to the domestic hearth is 
generally so silent and so depressed ? They are bound 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


227 

to sigh, and look at the stars, or at themselves, in a 
forlorn and disappointed way, and wonder where and 
why all their wild enjoyment has vanished. 

Rudolph rode in front with Mademoiselle Veritassi, 
and remembered not the existence of his companion, 
as his profound and troubled gaze rested solemnly upon 
the dark landscape. The wavy hilltops stood far out 
from the horizon, and the sky, instead of looking like 
a blue shield against them, shot away like a sea of 
infinite mist. The night air blew chilly round Athens, 
and the viscount cheerfully suggested the visit of those 
intemperate blasts that howl down from the encircling 
hills with frantic force, and prove more than anything 
the exceeding greatness of that mass of broken pillars 
and temples upon the Acropolis that have resisted their 
destructive strength all these centuries. 

But the next day, though cold, was not thought unfit 
for travelling, and, at an early hour, Rudolph was 
carried out of Athens to hear his uncle spout and quote 
upon the plain of Marathon, where the anemones were 
getting ready for their spring display. Pray, what did 
Rudolph care about Miltiades ? Had he not an intended 
brother-in-law of the name worth ten such generals? 
Indeed, he hazarded the opinion that the old one was 
greatly overrated, upon which his diplomatic uncle 
smiled, as the wise smile upon the foolish — the smile 
of tolerant and good-humoured superiority. 


228 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XX. 

AT THE THEATRE. 

Pericles carried his wounded brother to Phalerum 
for the period of convalescence, which an incessantly 
choleric spleen indefinitely prolonged. They stayed at 
the Grand Hotel looking upon the sanded beach, made 
cheerful by the cafe-tables and the proximity of the rail- 
way station, by which hosts of voluble Athenians were 
ever passing and repassing. In the afternoon they 
lounged amid the olive trees by the side of the hotel, 
athwart which the blue of sky and sea showed sharply, 
and drank their coffee while Constantine eagerly 
devoured “The H ora” and the “ The Palingenesia,” 
ready to pounce like a hawk on its prey upon the first 
chance acquaintance Providence, in the shape of the 
half-hourly train, should send him from Athens. 

Pericles sat reading one of his favourite volumes, now 
and then pausing to look watchfully at his daughter, 
and thankful in his heart to see how well she bore her 
sorrow. Inarime was for a time laid prostrate by 
Gustav’s banishment. And then youth’s elasticity 
rebounded with unconquered force. Like a drenched 
bird, she shook out her wet plumes, returned to her 
books, and saw that the sun was shining and that the 
flowers were blooming — noted it unwearily and without 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


229 


dismay. To recognise this much in the time of pas- 
sionate absorption in self is a rapid stride towards re- 
covery, and at such a moment new scenes and excite- 
ments of any sort work most potently. 

February had set in sharp and chill when they 
returned to Athens, Constantine cured and spared the 
humiliation of seeing the town illuminated in honour 
of the new Mayor, Oi’das. He insisted on bringing 
Inarime to the ruinously expensive dressmaker, Madame 
Antoinette, and there she was supplied with every 
imaginable detail of fashionable toilet, crowned with 
a gorgeous red silk parasol and long embroidered Suede 
gloves. 

Inarime, thus apparelled, stood before a cheval mir- 
ror, and placidly gazed astonishment at herself. It was 
impossible to deny that dress added glory to her beauty. 
Picturesque she had been before with a fitting back- 
ground of valley and desolate mountain. Now she was 
a nymph of Paris in walnut-coloured silk, and a little 
coquettish hat tipped with feathers. 

“Now you are fit to be seen in the streets of a capital, 
Inarime,” said Constantine, surveying her proudly. 
“Take her with you to Madame Jarovisky’s, Pericles.” 

Pericles took her, to Madame Jarovisky’s lasting 
gratitude. The girl was a positive sensation. Several 
men stopped to congratulate her uncle next day. 

“We must take her to the theatre. There is Faust 
on to-night. Every one likes Faust , and it will delight 
Inarime, while she is delighting others,” he said. 

“I see no objection to the theatre, but mind, Con- 
stantine, I will not have the girl talked of. Remember 
what my great namesake says of women, Their glory 


230 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN , . 


is the silence men observe upon them. Here he quoted 
the famous Oration. 

“Stuff and nonsense! Your mind is addled with 
that folly of the Ancients. Who the deuce cares nowa- 
days about silent virtue or the violet blushing unseen ? 
This is the age of advertisement. Get yourself talked 
of, yourself, your house, your women — if not well, then 
by all means ill. Only get the talk. Do you imagine 
I have not gone about everywhere spreading the report 
of your learning? That is why you receive so many 
cards of invitation. I extolled you to the director of 
the German School of Archaeology, and he was so im- 
pressed that he sends you a request to attend their 
meeting next month.” 

Shame and disappointment struck scarlet Pericles’ 
sallow face. He thought the letter the natural result of 
his own recognised and merited reputation, mainly built 
upon a correspondence with one of the Greek professors 
of the University of Bonn. 

“Brother,” he reproved, sternly, “it would afford 
me much satisfaction if you would be good enough to 
discontinue mentioning abroad my name and my 
daughter’s. ” 

“Then I am curious to know how you intend to dis- 
pose of that girl of yours.” 

Pericles sat still, and played musingly with his finger- 
tips. 

“ I must marry her ? ” he interrogated, softly. 

“ Marry her ! What in the name of all the heathen 
gods else would you do with her? Stick a professor’s 
cap on her head, and send her out to lecture to a band 
of curious rascals like that rash and self-opinionated 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


231 

young woman, Hypatia? You'd make a respectable 
Theon.” 

“His was the easier part. But Inarime would not 
be unworthy, though it is the last career I should choose 
for her,” said Pericles, with a quaint smile. 

“Exactly. You apprehend inflammable youth.” 

“ I desire but to see my daughter live securely in the 
shade of protection. There are times when I feel over- 
whelmed with a strange sensation — half-illness, half 
the simple withdrawal of vitality. Then it is that ap- 
prehensions and terror of a solitary futuie for that dear 
girl assail and completely master me. I would have 
her married, and yet it seems so improbable that I shall 
find a suitable partner, one to whom her cultured intel- 
lect would be a noble possession, to whom her beauty 
would be a thing of worship. There was one — alas ! 
alas ! ” 

“ Well, that’s settled. You sent him about his busi- 
ness. It was a foolish thing to do. Helene thinks so, 
too. A Turk ! Well, we don’t choose our nationality. 
Probably he would just as soon have been born a Greek 
or a German. Let that pass. Turn the lock upon your 
desire for culture and learning. They won’t put bread 
and olives into Inarime’s mouth. Money, Pericles, 
money is what we must look to.” 

When consulted about the theatre, Inarime showed 
sufficient pleasure in the prospect to quiet the doubts of 
her anxious father. 

“ Come down to Antoinette, and get something pretty 
— very pretty,” Constantine ordered. “You are not a 
fool, I suppose, and can take some natural interest in 
your beauty.” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


232 

“I am glad that I am beautiful/' she said, gravely. 

“ Very well. Put on your hat, and we’ll drive at once 
to Antoinette,” her uncle laughed hilariously. “Oh, 
women ! ” 

Conceive the efficiency of a Parisian dressmaker in- 
structed to enhance beauty. Bedeck Inarime then ac- 
cording to fancy, so that the costume be both scientific 
and suitable. 

Constantine was master upon the occasion, ordered 
the carriage, secured the box, and fussily did the honours 
to the bewildered islanders when they arrived in the 
little back street in which the old theatre was located. It 
was a most grotesque and shabby paper edifice, ugly, 
dirty, unstable. But it was worth the tenth-rate Italian 
companies who hired it, and usually left Athens, after 
the season, bankrupt. The men, untroubled by feminine 
charges, sat in the parterre, King George’s officers, of 
whom there are many, enjoyed the spectacle on half 
fees, chattering, laughing, and ostentatiously clanking 
their spurs and swords against the floor as they walked 
about between the acts. Here and there an aspiring 
civilian made believe to come fresh from Paris by ap- 
pearing en frac , and impertinently focussed the con- 
stellation of beauty in the box lined with cheap and 
ragged paper, and in the last stage of dilapidation. 

They were playing the waltz when the Selakas en- 
tered their box. In spite of excruciating fiddles, and 
tuneless and vulgar singers, it was possible to detect its 
intoxicating charm, and Inarime sat and listened with a 
pleased, abstracted expression, her elbow resting on the 
front of the box and her chin against her cream-gloved 
hand. Constantine took the seat beside her, in front, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


233 


and audibly hummed the air while his quick glance 
roved over the house. He saw Oidas, the Mayor, 
opposite in a box with his sister and his little motherless 
girl. They exchanged an uncordial nod, and the Mayor 
raised his opera-glass to inspect Inarime. He passed 
it to his sister, and they nodded and whispered to- 
gether. The young bloods below were soon enough 
conscious that there was somebody in the boxes worth 
looking at. Many an eye was turned from the middle- 
aged Marguerite, whose flaxen wig inartistically exposed 
the black hair underneath and who wore a soiled white 
wrapper of uncertain length, with grass-green bows 
down the front. 

With naive earnestness Inarime followed the actors, 
listened to the melodies, and frequently turned to bespeak 
her father’s attention. She was acquainted with Goethe, 
and knew the story of Marguerite in its classic form. 
But this sweet and voluptuous music was quite unfa- 
miliar to her. Of music, good or bad, she knew nothing, 
and had only occasionally heard a village piper piping 
for the Arcadians to dance. She could see that the 
dresses were dirty and tawdry, but the novelty of be- 
holding a tender love-scene for the first time acted even 
by a stagy foolish Faust singing false, and by a cracked- 
voiced Marguerite in a slovenly wrapper, with wig 
awry, to the accompaniment of squeaking fiddles and 
hoarse 'cellos, brought tears of sympathy to her eyes. 
Her emotions were too keenly touched to allow of her 
remembering the necessity of wiping away her tears, 
and when the curtain went down, the tell-tale drops 
had fallen on her cheek. 

“What a lovely young woman/' Agiropoulos ex- 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


234 

claimed, as he stood with his back to the stage, and 
leisurely surveyed the occupants of the boxes. 

‘‘Where? ” asked Rudolph, tolerantly. 

“ Beside the Royal Box. She is with the gallant and 
fiery member for Tenos. ” Agiropoulos broke into 
laughter, and began to quote Constantine at the Odeon. 
“ 4 1 11 mangle him, murder him, riddle him with shots,' 
and when it came to the point he had as much courage 
as a draggled hen.” 

Rudolph smiled faintly. He had heard the story 
before, and Agiropoulos’s excessive spirits bored him. 
He turned round and looked straight up at the Selaka 
group. He saw Inarime at once, wearing an intense, 
almost tragic expression, as if the curtain had just gone 
down upon her own first love-scene ; some moments 
elapsed before he removed his eyes from her. 

Constantine went away in search of an ice for his 
niece, and a little distraction for himself in shape of 
gossip and a cigarette. He knocked against Oidas, and 
the rival politicians stopped to shake hands. 

“ Is that your niece you have with you ? ” the Mayor 
asked. 

“ Yes. She and Pericles are staying in town now.” 

“A very fine girl — I may say, a very beautiful one. 
Has your brother any views with regard to her? ” 

“Matrimonial?” queried Constantine, laughing. 

“Those, I think, are the only views fathers are 
supposed to entertain about their daughters,” retorted 
O'idas, with awkward, averted glance. 

“Oh, of course. He naturally cherishes the hope to 
dispose of her some day with entire satisfaction to her 
and to himself. ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


235 


“Anybody in question?” 

Constantine faced his interrogator boldly, narrowed 
his eyelids to a sly, meditative slit, and answered : — 

“You think of offering yourself, perhaps.” 

“ I should certainly have no objection to a beautiful 
young wife. She has a dowry, I presume.” 

“ I presume so,” said Selaka, shutting up his lips in 
a portentous way. “ But there is something else to be 
considered besides your willingness. ’ 

“Undoubtedly. Still, it is a sufficiently important 
point. That is why I mention it.” 

Constantine understood perfectly well that such 
wealth as Oidas’ entitled its owner to his confident air. 
No sane father would be likely to reject or hesitate be- 
fore such an offer as this, and the girl would, of course, 
be guided by her father. 

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” conceded the wily 
Constantine. 

“Begin by introducing me at once,” suggested the 
Mayor. 

The aspiring Mayor was carried triumphantly to the 
Selakas’ box. The introduction enabled Oidas to relieve 
Inarime of her saucer, which he did with ponderous 
civility. She was hot and wretched in spite of the eaten 
ice. Of the Mayor’s presence she took no note ; in spirit 
she gazed gloomily back upon the departed vision of 
Gustav so harrowingly evoked by the music. Oidas 
devoted himself to Selaka with an occasional inclusive 
droop towards Inarime, whom he furtively and ap- 
praisingly observed. Into his box opposite Stavros 
entered, circumspect, thoroughly unobstructive, having 
joined the Government and resigned the editorship of 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


236 

the “ New Aristophanes.” He looked casually at 
Constantine, and bit his underlip, it might be to re- 
strain a blush or a smile. In the next box, just before the 
curtain went up on the second act, Miltiades rose like 
an evening sun upon the amazed scene, in grande 
tenue , cheerfully attended by his mother and Androm- 
ache. 

“Your twin-soul,” whispered Agiropoulos. “ Hector 
is called.” 

Rudolph turned round quickly, beheld Andromache 
with soft invitation in her glance, jumped up, and in 
passing down the house, his eyes rested for one moment 
on Inarime’s face. He withdrew them angrily, in 
the delicate belief that even a dim consciousness of 
any other woman’s beauty but his own particular lady’s 
was almost a deliberate disloyalty. 

“Oh, Rudolph, have you not seen her? Is she not 
beautiful ? ” Andromache enthusiastically asked, as 
she turned round her affectionate and glowing face to 
his when greetings were over, and he had taken his 
recognised place behind her chair. 

“Who?” Rudolph whispered; rapture demanding 
that their lightest words should be folded in mys- 
tery. 

Andromache pointed to the Selaka box. The young 
man looked steadily across over Andromache’s shoulder, 
frowned a little, and admitted grudgingly : 

“ She is handsome, but not soft and sweet like my 
Andromache. ’ 

“Oh, Rudolph 1" Andromache flashed on him de- 
lightedly. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


237 


He had only the day before come back from the 
Peloponnesus, and in a week he hoped to have sum- 
moned up courage to declare his honourable bondage 
to the baron, and start for Austria to conclude pre- 
nuptial arrangements. 


> 


238 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A CHORUS OF ATHENIAN MAIDENS. 

When Constantine lighted his niece’s candle and 
handed it to her, he touched Pericles on the arm and 
nodded. 

“I want you to smoke a cigarette with me before 
going to bed. I have something to say to you.” 

Pericles suffered himself to be led into the sitting- 
room, and proceeded to roll up a cigarette while his 
brother lighted the lamp. 

“We are agreed upon the advisability of at once 
marrying Inarime, I suppose?” he began. 

“At once ! ” Pericles exclaimed, in alarm. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“Think of her recent wound. She behaved so well. 

I cannot in conscience so soon do wrong to the mem- 
ory of her lover.” 

“ Sentiment ! The world only exists by ignoring it. 
What have the fancies of girls to do with suitable family 
arrangements ? I declare you are as great a fool as 
the child herself. A young woman permits herself the 
blamable freedom of looking complacently upon a 
young man who has not been officially chosen for her. 
She must perforce think herself a martyr and her guar- 
dians executioners, when it becomes necessary for 
them to reprimand her and order her to withdraw her 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


239 

prematurely fixed affections. Good gracious ! It is 
preposterous. We might as well be in England or in 
some equally wild place, where girls are unprotected 
and forward.” 

“Whom have you in view?” Pericles quietly asked, 
bringing the orator back to the point. * 

“ Oidas.” 

“ The Mayor ! Why, he is a widower and nearly as 
oidas myself.” 

“What does it matter? He is rich and influential. 
Inarime will have a handsome house, — you know that 
colonnaded building near the Palace ? Well, when a 
man has such a house as that to offer a woman, she 
need not trouble to examine the wrinkles on his fore- 
head or the crowsfeet under his eyes, or whether his 
hair be grey or black or red. All things are relative, 
Pericles, even youth and beauty. It depends on the 
purse.” 

“But have you any proof that Kyrios Oidas is dis- 
posed to think of my daughter ? ” 

“The best possible. He told me so to-night.” 

Pericles started, and stared doubtingly at his brother. 

“ You do not credit me, I see, but it is true, I assure 
you. He admires her, wants a wife, asked if she had 
a dowry, and notified his willingness to demand her in 
marriage.” 

“He is a rich man, undoubtedly,” Pericles slowly 
admitted, remembering just then that Reineke had 
not started by considerations of the dowry. “In his 
country women are bought,” he said to himself, “in 
ours their husbands are purchased. It is merely an 
opinion on which side the barter is more honourable.” 


240 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


“You consent then to my calling to-morrow on 
Oidas with an official communication and recogni- 
tion ? ” 

“ It is too soon,” Pericles pleaded. 

“It is never too soon to marry your child well.” 

“ Perhaps you are right. I would have chosen a 
younger man. However, do not precipitate matters. 
I must know more of this Oidas. He is a politician, 
and you know my feelings towards that class of men. 
It is just possible he may be less disreputable and illi- 
terate than the general run. He cannot be an honour- 
able man upon your own admission, for he stooped to 
buy the influence of that reptile, Stavros.” 

“True, but all politicians do so. The greater they 
are, the more unscrupulous. It is part of their metier , 
as callousness to pain is of the surgeon’s. You have 
studied history and I have not ; then this fact you 
must have learnt.” 

“Sometimes the loose political mind may prove 
itself more keenly apprehensive of correct deductions 
than that of the studiously trained thinker,” Pericles re- 
joined, with a subtle smile. “Doubtless it is I who am 
in error.” 

“This is idle wandering. I’ll grant you anything in 
argument, only grant me in turn the consideration of 
Oidas’ proposals and his formal reception.” 

Pericles thought awhile, then rose and stretched his 
arms. 

“There will be nothing incorrect in receiving him. 
I cannot settle straight off to marry Inarime to him, 
but I agree with you that his proposals are worth con- 
sidering. He is not the man I should have selected, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEM 


24 


and that is why I hesitate to compromise our honour. 
But he can come. I will not coerce my child. It is 
for her to say whether he will stay. ” 

This concession was more than Constantine had 
dared to hope for, and his spirits rose to the point of 
exuberance next morning when an invitation came 
from Madame Jarovisky’s for Inarimeto attend an after- 
noon party for young people given in honour of her 
daughter's birthday. 

There were about twenty young ladies and mature 
little girls, with a sprinkling of boys and youths from 
the military and naval schools, at Madame Jarovisky’s 
when Inarime entered the rooms, escorted by her 
father. The chaperons retired to the salon downstairs, 
to refresh themselves with tea and return to their 
homes, or stay and watch the youngsters disport and 
play. By and by Miltiades came, that prince of mas- 
ters of ceremonies, especially invited to conduct the 
cotillon, and show the small rabble how to dance the 
mazurka. Could a hero object to shine and lead, even 
in minute and giggling society? Heavens above us! 
What would be the result of an entertainment in Athens 
without Miltiades? Confusion, scare, and disgrace, — 
worse, the privation of its most picturesque adornment, 
and its crown of military glory. 

The young ladies of Athens were there in every stage, 
little women dressed like dolls, flirting and pouting 
with grave little old men of ten and twelve ; girls in 
tutelage, breaking from their governess to dance a riot- 
ous quadrille with the future defenders of their coun- 
try upon land and water ; and lastly, the self-conscious 
and important “ demoiselles a marier,” who play Cho- 


242 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


pin’s Second Nocturne to the desolation of those who 
understand Chopin, chatter ceaselessly in indifferent 
French, draw flowers and keep albums for the collec- 
tion of all the heart-broken verses in European tongues. 
Into this lively and flippant circle Inarime was at once 
whirled with voluble cordiality and cries of frantic en- 
thusiasm. 

Mademoiselle Emeraude Veritassi was the presiding 
archangel, in the artistic setting of the expensive 
Antoinette. The angels were Miss Mary Perpignani, 
Sappho Jarovisky, Andromache Karapolos, Proserpine 
Agiropoulos, and the young ladies of the American 
legation. Emeraude was the key to the general mood, 
— she was captain of a pliable and sensitive band of 
very amiable young marauders. She welcomed Ina- 
rime avidly, with the frankest smile and a swift approval 
of her toilet. The others clustered round her and 
somewhat bewildered her with this sudden introduction 
to noisy unmeditative girlhood. Of the mind and 
ways of girls she was savagely ignorant, we know, 
and all these laughing faces and softly brilliant glances, 
turned upon her, shook her with surprise and terror. 
Could it be that she was one of them and so aloof, so 
absolutely unlike and out of sympathy with them ? Joy 
and vigour were abounding in them^ the susceptible 
and intoxicating blood of youth and its untamable 
pulses, gave fire to their eyes and chased reflection 
from their minds. When they danced together, or with 
boys of their own age, their steps sprang over the pol- 
ished floor with the urgent impetuosity of their years. 
When they stood near her, and panted and laughed 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


243 

between their gasping speech, she felt as the Peri might, 
gazing upon happiness afar. 

She envied these absurd and frivolous maidens, envied 
them their untroubled youth, — beside which her own 
looked sad and grey-toned, — their free hearts and mean- 
ingless laughter, their twinkling feet and innocent 
sentimentality. 

“You do not dance, "said Emeraude, pausingbeside 
her after a wild waltz, with fluttering bosom, like a 
pursued bird. 

“I have never danced. I have never met girls be- 
fore," Inarime answered, with a sharp note of regret 
in her voice. 

Imagine the consternation and the wonder on the 
faces around her. Emeraude was naturally spokes- 
woman for the party. She expressed an opinion that 
the conversation chould be carried on in Greek instead 
of French. 

“Then we shall have to speak our best Greek," cried 
Sappho, having heard of Inarime’s learning. “Made- 
moiselle Selaka speaks the language of Plutarch." 

“Oh, no," exclaimed Inarime, with a deprecating 
smile. “I have the current Athenian at your service. 
Except with my father, I am accustomed to speak the 
rough brogue of our island." 

“There is just the faintest perceptible tinge of the 
Archipelago in your accent,” affirmed Emeraude, au- 
thoritatively. “ This is your first visit to Athens? " 

“My first." 

“Oh, are you not happy to be here?" carolled An- 
dromache. “Athens — ah! it is so lovely. I could not 
leave it.” 


244 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“ Tell us of your life in Tenos,” said Emeraude, tak- 
ing up the dominant melody of the concerto, and at 
once the chorus of followers pressed their captain’s 
demand with an inarticulate cry of accentuated agree- 
ment. 

“It is very simple. I read and walk with my father, 
and when not thus occupied, I help Annunziata in house- 
work or I write letters for the villagers.” 

“ Annunziata ! That is a pretty name. Italian ? ” 

“She is Greek, of remotely Italian origin.” 

“And why do you write letters for the villagers?” 
asked Sappho. “Can they not write themselves ? ” 

“ None of the women in the villages of Lutra, Xinara, 
or Mousoulou can write but myself.” 

“How marvellous!” exclaimed Miss Perpignani, 
and the girls wore a look of interjection. 

“Are there goats? ” 

Inarime stared a little at such an obviously foolish 
question. Her steady luminous gaze struck chill upon 
the volatile young circle, and for an instant checked 
their chatter. Then some one broke the uneasy si- 
lence. 

“How about your dresses? You must leave Tenos 
when you want new clothes. This pretty frock is surely 
Athenian.” 

“Yes, that is because I am here, and my uncle 
wishes me to be dressed like “everybody else, but hitherto 
I have had my dresses made at Tenos. They are well 
made too.” 

“Not possible ! Like ours, in the modern fashion ? ” 

Inarime lightly scanned the costumes round her. 

“I do not think Tenos could produce anything like 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


245 

these,” she said, simply, “but then we would not know 
what to do with them over there.” 

“ Do you live far from the town ? ” 

“Yes, a good way. It takes nearly three hours by 
mule.” 

“ I suppose you have no carriages in Tenos ? ” 

“ There are no roads to begin with, and in conse- 
quence no vehicles of any sort. It is a very rough, wild 
place.” 

“ And now you have come to Athens to be married,” 
concluded Emeraude. “Do you look forward to 
marriage ? ” 

A dusky colour shot up into Inarime’s face like a hid- 
den flame. She fixed her eyes slowly on Mademoiselle 
Veritassi. 

“ If it is my father’s wish that I should marry, it will 
be my duty to obey him, but I trust he will not ask it 
of me.” 

Another look of wondering consternation flashed over 
the circle. Not wish to marry ! have a house of her 
own and take precedence of unmarried girls ! be some- 
body in social life, give parties and travel ! 

“ I thought all girls liked the notion of getting mar- 
ried,” remarked Miss Mary Perpignani. “It is so dull 
to be unmarried, not to be able to go out alone, or to 
go to Antoinette’s and order what you like. Just think 
how delightful it must be to be free, like a young man, 
and do all sorts of lovely naughty things, dance twice 
if you like with the handsomest officer without any one 
to tell you it is not convenable , and read all the dreadful 
French novels. We poor girls are so harassed with 
that horrid word convenable. To see little boys at the 


246 


DA UGIITERS OF MEN. 


age of ten allowed to stand on their heads and we, 
aching for liberty, not allowed to budge at thirty if we 
are not married ! ” 

“Oh, shocking to think of, as the English say,” cried 
Sappho, clapping her hands to her ears to shut out the 
spoken description. “We are martyrs, we unhappy 
girls.” 

‘ * Your faces belie your misery, ” said Inarime, gravely. 

“Que voulez-vous, Mademoiselle?” Emeraude re- 
torted, gaily, “nous autres, nous sommes a peu pres 
Francises. II faut etre bien mis et savoir rire malgre 
tout. Avent de me tuer, je mettrai ma plus jolie 
robe. ” 

“Oh, ma chere, ma chere,”the shocked angels cho- 
russed. Then turning to Inarime, one of them soothed 
her perplexity. 

“Don’t pay any heed to the exaggerations of Emer- 
aude. She likes to frighten people. She talks that 
way, but she means nothing. Comine tu sais blaguer, 
Emeraude.” 

“Mais, point du tout. Je suis serieuse. Qu’est ce 
que serait la vie si Ton ne savait pas se moquer de ses 
chagrins, au lieu de s’en attrister ? ” protested Emeraude. 

“I applaud your sentiment. Cheerfulness I should 
imagine to be the lesson of life and our highest aspira- 
tion,” said Inarime. 

“ It is not mine, assuredly,” cried Sappho. “My 
dream is excitement — oh, but the excitement that con- 
sumes and fills up every hour, waking and sleeping. I 
should adore being married to a man I hated, rich, 
powerful and commanding, of whom I was desper- 
ately afraid, and to be in love with a poor, divinely 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


247 


beautiful young officer. To think of the thrilling 
terrors and consuming bliss of meetings at parties, at 
theatres, in picture galleries, horribly shadowed by a 
jealous husband, only time to whisper a hurried greet- 
ing and look into each other's eyes ” 

Be assured this rash prospective sinner was in mind 
as innocent of a sinister meaning as in limpid gaze. 
Mademoiselle Veritassi measured her scornfully. 

“You have probably been taking your first plunge 
into Feuillet in secret, and are talking of what you do 
not in the least understand. You would find your 
young officer a complete idiot, and his divinely beauti- 
ful face would soon enough pall on you. Love, 
romantic or otherwise, will not be my domain. I 
aspire to marry a man of moderate intelligence, pliable, 
of the world and of the best tone, with the doors of a 
foreign embassy open to him, whom I shall mould 
and lead, and whose fortune I shall make. My dream 
is more legitimate, though from the purely masculine 
point of view, hardly less incorrect than Sappho's.” 

“And yours ? '.' Andromache asked shyly of Inarime. 

“ Mine? I have none. I have not felt the need for 
excitement or novelty. My quiet, uneventful life has 
hitherto amply satisfied me— until lately, until quite 
lately,” she added, with a slight break in her voice. 

Mademoiselle Veritassi scrutinised her through nar- 
rowed lids, and smiled imperceptibly. 

“You speak German, I am told, fluently. I presume 
you had a governess.” 

“No, my father was my tutor. He taught me every- 
thing that I know.” 

“ Your father ! and no governess ! And embroidery, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


248 

music, drawing and the rest? ” Mademoiselle Veritassi 
gasped. 

“ I know nothing of such graceful accomplishments. 
With books I am acquainted, and though I have never 
measured my speed with any other girl’s, my father 
tells me I am a swift runner. But girls so brilliantly 
finished as you will laugh to hear me speak of running.” 

“ No, no. It is charming. A modern Atlanta. You 
are truly a divine creature. As for us, our futile accom- 
plishments are mere gossamer wings to skim to social 
heights for which we are destined. There they drop 
from us, and their instability is their only charm. 
Yours are of solider weight, with the merit of corre- 
sponding permanence.” 

“It is kind of you to reassure me thus, but I know 
my value. Lam only a bookish peasant.” 

“ Emeraude is right,” Miss Perpignani cooed, caress- 
ingly. “You are a divine creature — beautiful as a 
picture. ” 

Inarime glanced pitifully at the youthful leader 
whose voice to these girls was as the voice of fame. 
Her own intellect was rare, and her knowledge pro- 
found, and yet she was humiliated and acutely con- 
scious of her inferiority to this dainty damsel, who 
fluttered and flirted her fragile fan with inimitable 
grace, and wore her girlhood with an air of sovereignty 
that came of twenty years’ sway at home and abroad. 
We may divine that it was the extreme fastidiousness 
of the heiress and only child that allowed her to reach 
twenty unclaimed. 

“You have but to wish it to outstrip us all on our 
own ground. But, I beseech you, spare us. Think 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


249 


what rivalry with you would mean for us. The sun 
above the stars. Be content with your beauty and 
your books, and do not ask to descend to the mere 
social arena. For me, I ask nothing better than to 
be your friend.” 

The little ones had come to the end of their hour of 
rhythmic movement, and Miltiades, beaming in the 
splendour of black and gold, was officiously telling off 
the couples for the cotillon. He approached the girls, 
and asked if Mademoiselle Selaka would dance. 
Inarime shook her head. 

“Do, do, dear Inarime — may I ? ” pleaded Mademoi- 
selle Veritassi. “It will give us all such pleasure to 
watch you.” 

“Yes, yes,” chorused the followers. 

“ But I cannot dance, alas ! ” Inarime murmured. 

“Your voice is like velvet, and yet clear though so 
softly murmurous. Do not fear. It is quite simple. 
Pray be persuaded. Captain Karapolos will guide 
you.” 

Inarime suffered herself to be led across the room to 
the spot where the couples were noisily forming them- 
selves. Just then she saw Rudolph Ehrenstein enter 
with the Baroness von Hohenfels on his arm, who 
surveyed the young people through her face-a-main 
with *a complacent smile. The smile intensified when 
Inarime came under its rays, while Rudolph and An- 
dromache were looking far too eloquently at each other. 
Inarime understood the mute avowal of momently 
wedded orbs, and a thrill of remembered delight and 
anguish swept over her like a blast. 

O bliss too fleeting, and O pain too sweet ! 


25 ° 


DA UGHTEKS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

FORESHADOWING A CRISIS IN RUDOLPH’S CAREER. 

The constant dropping of the waters of opposition upon 
the stone of Pericles’ obstinacy showed the proverbial 
result. It was worn away in a few days, at the 
end of which time he yielded to his brother’s per- 
suasions and admitted that a daughter is a ticklish 
charge for one sane man, only armed with the control- 
ling influences of a father. His girl, he at first argued, 
was not quite as other girls — she was steadfast, sincere 
and earnest. He had not yet perceived any tendency in 
her to the sex’s frantic moodishness and dizzy vari- 
ations. True, the god Cupid had mastered her at a 
single glance with alarming urgence. But an antique- 
modern Greek found excuse in his heart for the head- 
strong vagaries of the eternally youthful god. He an- 
nounced himself ready to transfer his responsibilities to 
Oidas, if he proved acceptable to Inarime. He was 
not exuberant at the prospect, nor in the least hurry. 
But he permitted 0'idas to visit with prospectively nup- 
tial intentions, and left the rest to the gods. 

Oidas came. He came very often, hardly noticed by 
Inarime, beyond the fact that his coming provided her 
with flowers, and that he frequently conducted her to the 
theatre where she heard the surfeiting honey strains of 
Bellini and Verdi, and to the Saturday concerts at the 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


2 5 I 

Parnassus Club of which he was president, where Bel- 
lini and Verdi were also in the ascendant. 

“ Have you any feeling towards Kyrios Oidas ? ” her 
father once ventured to ask. 

“ Feeling ! I have not remarked him specially. He 
is polite, but I should imagine not interesting/' Inarime 
replied. 

“Ah ! ” interjected Selaka, with an air of partial self- 
commiseration. Having made up his mind after pro- 
longed doubting upon so minor a point, to accept 
Oidas for a son-in-law, it was disconcerting to learn 
that the chosen one had made none but a very 
dubious impression upon the principal personage of 
the duet. 

He lightly dismissed the fact as another proof of the 
singular and incorrigible perversity of woman, not 
even to be counteracted by such anomalous training 
and education as he had given this particular one. 

Not to be out of the fashion, the Baroness von Hohen- 
fels had rapturously taken up the new beauty. Inarime 
was frequently invited to the Austrian Embassy, and 
her acquaintance with Mademoiselle Veritassi and her 
band progressed to intimacy. The delight of joyous 
youth that lives unthinkingly upon the beating of its 
own pulses struck dormant rays from her closed na- 
ture. She shook off the shadow of her own calm past 
and emerged from gloom, a radiant being, now and 
then weighted with her recent heavy bereavement, 
only to rebound again into realms of intoxicating 
instability. The friction of her natural forces with 
these laughing creatures urged her upward, and a re- 
turn to the desolate solitude of a world unblessed by 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


252 

the presence of her lover, left her amazed, incredulous 
and giddy. 

The trashy music she had heard struck her as en- 
chantment, until Mademoiselle Veritassi chilled her 
enthusiasm. 

“ Do you sometimes go to the theatre ? ” she 
queried. 

“ Here ? ” 

“ Yes. ” 

“ Mon Dieu ! When I want to go to the theatre, I 
go to Paris or Vienna,” said Mademoiselle Veritassi, 
superciliously. 

“ Is it not good here ? ” 

“ It is vulgar rubbish — good enough for the Athen- 
ians, but not for those who have heard music and seen 
acting. My child, you have yet to see a theatre.” 

This was food for reflection, and another proof of her 
inferiority to these bewildering nymphs of society. 
The next time' Oidas made soft proposals touching 
Verdi and Bellini, Inarime curtly declined them. 

“I have intimated to Kyrios Oidas my entire willing- 
ness to receive him into my family,” said Pericles one 
day to his brother. “ It now remains for him to try 
his fortunes with Inarime, to whom I shall previously 
communicate his intentions. But I desire that the mat- 
ter may be speedily settled. This frivolous, noisy ex- 
istence wearies me. I yearn for my books and the 
quiet of my mountain home.” 

“ But are you not pledged to attend the meeting 
of the German School which takes place in ten 
days ? ” 

“I will come back for it. Besides, Annunziata writes 


DA UGH TEDS OF MEN. 253 

for my immediate presence. The steward is not giving 
satisfaction. " 

Inarime entered, modernised beyond recognition m 
a flimsy grey silk gown slashed with crimson and 
shaded greens, a belt from which depended ribbons of 
these mixed hues that floated in the breeze and arrested 
the distracted glance, with hair which swelled above the 
mild brow to a pyramidal crown of shadow and threw 
out bronze and bluish lights, its rippling massy softness 
in complete harmony with the equable, studious face. 

“ Why thus early decked in bird of Paradise hues ?” 
laughed Selaka, quietly. 

“ Mademoiselle Veritassi and her brother are to call 
for me shortly.” 

“Ah, I forgot. You grow dissipated, my dear. It 
seems to me your books are now quite forsaken for the 
society of these chattering young persons. Voices, 
voices, voices, and meaningless laughter I hear as I 
pass you in the salon. What in heaven’s name have 
they to say ? ” 

“ Well, not much that is worth listening to, I am 
afraid,” Inarime admitted, with a little apologetic 
smile. “ And they fly from one subject to another so 
quickly, exchange interjections and telegraphic remarks, 
scattered phrase with sharp hiatus till I am compelled 
to give up all hope of following them, having missed 
their airy education. But the sound of their voices is 
pretty to the ear — that is, not the sound itself, but its 
suggestions.” 

“ Then you are satisfied that you have enough 
amiable reminiscences to carry back with you to the 
solitudes of Tenos ? ” Pericles half-commented, just 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


254 

looking at Constantine to signify his wish to be left 
alone with his daughter. 

Inarime sighed. Tenos seemed so very far away 
from her. 

“ We are going back, my child. Do you not rejoice ? ” 

“ Back ! So soon ! You have enjoyed your visit, 
father? ” 

“It is for you to decide. Your pleasure is mine, 
dearest.” 

Her face clouded. Confronted with her ruthlessly 
severed heart the phrase sounded hollow. 

“ I have almost forgotten that I was unhappy,” she 
whispered. 

Pericles gazed at her in amazement. He would have 
staked his life on this girl’s stability and firmness. 
Here was a curious proof of the inexplicable lightness 
and variability of the feminine temper. Who was to 
sound its depths or follow its breathless changes? 
Man, he concluded (not originally, who can be original 
on the theme ?) treads a mine when he essays to read the 
book of woman, even in the chapter of his own daughter. 
The simplest page holds promise of explosion and sur- 
prise. Philosophy shrinks from the task, as beyond 
the hard unimaginative male intelligence. 

“ You wish to remain here ? ” he interrogated. 

“ I think I do,” she breathed through her teeth re- 
luctantly. “To return to Tenos would mean so much 
for me. It was good of you, father, to give me this 
change.” 

“Well, well,” Selaka interposed, with a disappointed 
air. “ Happily the emotions of your strange sex are 
ever ready to come to your aid. Sorrow is not incur- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


255 

able, because you answer so readily to the spur of dis- 
traction. Perhaps you will bend as compliantly to the 
sound of wedding-bells.” 

“No, I will not,” she retorted, harshly. 

“ If I ask it, Inarime ? ” he bent forward. 

“ It would not be fair. You have the right to dispose 
of me, I know, but I ought not to be tried beyond my 
strength.” 

“Do not speak as if it were possible I should be 
other than your best friend, with your interests exclu- 
sively my own,” protested Selaka, affectionately. “But 
it is the duty of the old to remember the future for the 
young. Marriage is the natural termination of a girl’s 
irresponsible existence. I, as your guardian, am bound 
to find you a suitable mate. You mentioned just now 
that here at Athens you had forgotten that you were 
unhappy. That struck me as a singularly pregnant 
observation — it felicitously summed up your sex. 
What then can there be objectionable in my proposal 
to settle you permanently at Athens?” 

He awaited her reply as if he expected compliance. 

“I spoke of change preluding a return to the old 
life. It pleased me to feel that I had pushed it away 
from me for awhile, that I was aloof from it, beholding 
entirely new scenes and hearing foreign voices. That 
change I know I wanted to keep me from a merely 
whimpering discontent. I wish to be strong, father, 
and hate to succumb to weakness.” 

“Prove your wish for strength by casting from you 
sentimental chains. Your objection is purely senti- 
mental. Remember the lesson of the ancients. We 
perceive the ideal, and hasten to make our best com- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


256 

promise with the actual. Love is the unattainable 
draught. We are sometimes permitted to bring our 
lips within measurable distance from the rim of the 
bowl, and then it is withdrawn. Some of us are given 
one sip of the nectar and must go thirsty ever after- 
wards. We live the life of the flesh, which is common 
and crude enough, and nourish our starved spirit upon 
memory. That is the lesson of experience, but we need 
not, for that, feel ourselves curtained off from cheerful- 
ness and contented labour.” 

He watched her attentively. All the light had fled 
from her face. 

“You wish me to marry Kyrios Oidas,” she said, 
after a pause. 

“You have rightly guessed. He is not a scholar, I 
have to admit, and a modern politician does not fill me 
with admiration ; but he is wealthy, and will take 
care of you. It will be for you to shine, and I dare 
say he will be proud enough of you.” 

“If he were a scholar I could understand,” she ex- 
claimed. “But simple money! Father, you are not 
material. You are not tired of me ? ” 

“Tired ? I ? Of you ? ” 

Pericles fondled her hand, and laughed. 

“ But you wish me to leave you for this man, who is 
only rich.” 

“ I shall not live forever, and a husband will be your 
proper protector. Poverty would not be a recommenda- 
tion in a suitor, I imagine/' 

“But you are not so old, and there are long days 
before us.” 

“Who knows? I have been warned of late that I 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


25 7 

am not very strong. It is decided. You must marry.” 

‘ ‘ Kyrios Oidas ? ” 

“ I am compromised — pledged.” 

She bent her head, and at that momenj the bell 
announced the arrival of her friends. 

The Baroness von Hohenfels, hearing of Selaka’s in- 
tended departure and a meditated return for the meeting 
of the German School, called and warmly pressed 
Inarime to stay with her during M. Selaka’s absence. 
She would not hear of refusal. There was a room at 
the Embassy at Mademoiselle Selaka’s disposal ; her 
friends would be desolated to lose her so soon — in fact, 
she must come. 

“You will not have time to miss me, Inarime,” 
Pericles sang out cheerily from the doorstep, as she 
drove away in the Baroness’s carriage, her engagement 
still hanging in the balance of indecision. She had 
some faint hope of consulting the baroness, and seeking 
strength and resolution in her judgment. 

Inarime took the Austrian Embassy by storm. That 
evening Rudolph returned from a short absence at 
Vienna, where he had been bound on pre-nuptial 
affairs, intending to startle his family by the announce- 
ment of his engagement to Andromache and his deter- 
mination to marry immediately. Tongues were already 
set wagging, and vague and disconcerting reports had 
reached the baron and baroness. But their faith was 
built on the genius of Mademoiselle Veritassi. Rudolph 
might waver and glory in other chains of captivity, but 
he would end by sullenly admitting the superlative 
charm and conquering force of the girl of fashion. 

He came back, saw Inarime, fell prostrate in new 

17 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


258 

adoration, tugged with feeble heart-strings by the soft 
glimmer of the March violets he remorsefully shrank 
from seeking. 

The diplomatic baron, too, stumbled into captivity, 
assisted in his fall by the baroness, herself under the 
spell of Inarime’s beauty. Indeed, not one of the three 
had shown a spark of resistance. 

The heavy ambassador danced hourly attendance 
upon the young goddess, and under her glance, sparkled, 
astounded spectators by feats of chivalry and semi- 
veiled gallantry that turned the clock of time for him 
back by twenty years. Ah, but his enslavement was 
not a serious defection. There was the wretched 
Rudolph, held breathless by his own faithlessness and 
variable heart-beats. The feeling he gave Andromache 
was but a rushlight, compared with this blaze of fire. 
He slept not, nor did he eat. Life died within him 
out of Inarime’s presence, and was flame in his mem- 
bers when she was near him. The old fancy dropped 
from him like a toy ; this was a consuming need, a 
poignant hunger with his uprising, and a hunger with 
added thirst upon his lying down. 

To Inarime he was merely a dull and pretty boy to 
whom it behoved her to show some kindness and for- 
bearance. His gloomy blue eyes fixed silently upon 
her, vaguely irritated her, and she put command into 
hers to check their persistent following. Still she pre- 
ferred him to his uncle, whose gallant attentions and 
man-of-the-world deference vexed and fretted her. His 
was a novel language to her, and she hesitated to read 
it lest there might be studied insult beneath it. From 
the baroness she heard of Rudolph’s unfortunate en- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


259 


tanglement with Andromache, and upon pressure of 
confidence, admitted her father’s desire to see her 
married to Oidas, whom she did not like or even mod- 
erately esteem. She imagined Rudolph forcibly sepa- 
rated from Andromache, and read in that fact his evident 
unhappiness, which appealed to her for sympathy and 
touched her with the wand of brotherhood. 

Photini was invited to play for her pleasure, and this 
introduction to the highest music was astonishment to 
her. Her fine nature recognised mastery, though the 
riddle was unexplained to her senses. She could not 
at a leap mount such heights of sound, where the 
melodies seemed to disport in waves and thunder, with 
sprays of foam and the facets of jewels. She ap- 
proached Photini for help. 

Photini measured her mercilessly with her formi- 
dable gaze, — dwelt on her physical exquisiteness, and 
smiled sardonically. 

“ You have beauty, mademoiselle. Be thankful for 
that, and leave art to those who have souls to com- 
prehend it.” 

“ Finger-tips as well, and perseverance,” said 
Inarime, archly. 

“Oh, I see. You are not a doll. Well, come to see 
me any morning, and I’ll play till your ears ache.” 

Photini turned on her heel, and beckoned to Rudolph, 
who gloomily trotted after her into the conservatory. 

Selaka returned to Athens for the meeting of German 
archaeologists, and was cordially invited to stay for a 
few days at the Austrian Embassy. 


26 o 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A MEETING ON THE ACROPOLIS. 

March came and went in a whirlwind of storm and 
rain that lasted a fortnight. Every one susceptible to 
atmospheric influences was ill and unhappy, and the 
wind sobbed and shrieked like the ghosts of centuries 
crying to be laid. And now, on this first evening, the 
storm went down, with a little sigh running through 
the quieted air, like a child’s remembered sob in dream- 
ing. The orange and lemon trees were in full blossom, 
and the Palace gardens wore “the glory and the fresh- 
ness of a dream.” 

Gustav Reineke stood between the pillars of the 
Parthenon and watched the sky after sunset. The zenith 
was clear purple upon which light clouds traced a long 
milky way with edges torn into threadlets of white that 
curled and lost themselves, shading off to rose upon 
the eastern horizon. He watched cream deepen into 
orange, and spread a mist upon the blue, and the azure 
faint into pearly grey, while the cirrhus arch shifted 
itself slowly, and dropped behind the hills.' The west 
was a lake of unsullied gold, so pure that the eye could 
follow the birth of cloud-stains upon it and the flames 
of crimson and orange striking fire from its heart. 
Over Lycabettus shone a tremulous radiance, half pink, 
half opal, and above the blue was shot with silver and 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


26 1 


green. Upon the hills the shadows were sharply 
defined by broken lines of light, and the sea under 
Salamis was a waveless blue gloom. 

Gustav had done brave battle with woe, and wore 
his sorrow nobly. There was nothing of the crushed 
air of the love-sick swain about him. He stood up 
straight, and faced the light of day with mournful calm 
eyes and strong lips, patiently awaiting the revocation 
of his sentence or its confirmation, and for the moment 
gave himself entirely up to the study of archaeology. 
He had come that morning to Athens upon invitation, 
to attend the meeting of the German School of Archae- 
ology. 

While Gustav is sky-gazing with an open volume of 
Pausanias in his hand, another young friend of ours 
is crossing Constitution Square with the intention of 
strolling towards the Acropolis. Ten days back in 
Athens, and not one glimpse of Andromache ! Very 
unlike a lover restored to the arms of his mistress does 
he look, sauntering along with his hands in his pockets 
and an expression of miserable perplexity on his face. 
An airy, wide-awake individual, with an anemone in 
his button-hole, and a glass in his eye, accosts him 
noisily, and quickly scanning him, remarks aloud upon 
the utter dejection of his air. 

“Ah, Tonton, je suis epris — cette fois pour de bon,*' 
cried Rudolph, desirous of horrifying somebody else 
as well as himself 

“Encore? Est-ce possible? Vrai ? ” ejaculated 
Agiropoulos. 

“C'est tres vrai.” 

“Allons done, mon cher ! Faut-il tefeliciter? Epris 


262 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


pour la troisieme fois dans autant de mois ! Mais cest 
effrayant ! ” 

Rudolph’s eyes swept the landscape in dreary assent. 
He thoughtdt very frightful indeed. 

“Pauvre Photini ! Pauvre Andromaque,” cried 
Agiropoulos, taking off his hat and running his plump 
hand over his well-shorn head, “ et pauvre — la 
derniere. Elle sera toujours a plaindre, celle-la.” 

“Dis plutot, pauvre Rudolph!’’ said Ehrenstein, 
ruefully. 

“ Eh, je le dis, mon cher, de bon cceur,” said 
Agiropoulos, with a reassuring nod and an enigmatic 
smile, as he turned on his heel, and stopped to discuss 
Ehrenstein’s lamentable susceptibility with his next 
acquaintance. 

Can this really be our fastidious Rudolph, who has 
held the above indelicate dialogue with a man he 
hitherto professed to despise? Has he grown in a few 
months both cynical and hardened ? But the cynicism 
was only surface deep. This search for an anchor to his 
affections and the discovery he had made that his 
emotions and his judgment were unreliable, his heart 
as unstable as water, wrecked all self-esteem, and left 
him in a battered condition of mind. He felt as if he 
had been morally whipped by scorpions, and every 
nerve within him was bruised. 

First Photini, then Andromache, dear; sweet An- 
dromache ! how his heart bled for her ! that he should 
be so unworthy of her ! And She? the other She ! the 
final, unattainable She, whose looks ran fire through his 
veins and held him in humble unexacting servitude ? 

He came out to walk and meditate. Could he have 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


263 

chosen a more favourable road for meditation than the 
wide avenue of pepper-trees, that leads by a gentle 
upward slope to the cactus-bordered hill, upon which 
the glorious Parthenon rests? Of the nature of his 
reflections, as he strolled along that famous route, I 
cannot say much. I imagine they were hazy, like the 
inarticulate speech of an infant. He wanted something, 
but for the life of him he could not have put that some- 
thing into shape or definite speech. Like Hercules, 
his way was barred by two female forms — only one of 
whom, however, offered him a direct invitation. And 
Photini ? 

And thus these two met, and falling into accidental 
conversation, which resulted in an exchange of cards, 
Rudolph learnt that this was Herr Reineke, the distin- 
guished Greek scholar, whose card his aunt had found 
awaiting her on her return from a drive that morning. 
Anything was better to Rudolph than that meditation 
in pursuit of which he had come out expressly, so he 
warmly pressed Reineke to comeback to the Embassy 
with him. Reineke took a fancy to the frank and high- 
bred lad, and gladly consented to do so. 

On their way he learnt some very original and curi- 
ous views upon the Ancient Greeks, and his national 
vanity was flattered by hearing this discontented youth 
describe the Modern Greeks as worse than the Jews, 
and express his entire sympathy with the Turks — a 
thorough gentlemanly race in his opinion. Gustav 
assented, but claimed an exception for one or two of 
the modern Greeks, and at this point they reached the 
Embassy. 

The young man found everybody out, so Rudolph 


264 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


carried off Reineke to a little salon only used in private 
life. Here the baroness wrote her letters, and here In- 
arime had sat that morning with a book and a pencil 
in her hand. Rudolph ordered coffee and cigars, and 
selected for himself Inarime’s seat. He took up her 
book, and remembered enough of his Greek to know 
that it was a volume of the Sicilian Idyllists. He rec- 
ognised the names Theocritus, Bion and Moschus, but 
the rest was a blank to him. In turning over the leaves, 
a sheet of paper dropped out, and this contained writ- 
ing. He examined it carefully, and was struck with its 
exquisite caligraphy. 

“Can you read Greek — modern ? ” he asked of Gustav, 
who was looking idly out of the window. 

“Yes,” he answered, turning his face round. 

“Please translate that for me,” cried Rudolph ex- 
citedly. Gustav extended his hand for the paper, 
glanced at it carelessly, and read half-finished verses in 
classical Greek, which baldly translated read some- 
thing like this : — 

“ O let me not in this grief fail. 

Dear Gods, upon me glance ! 

For hearts with troubles slowly veil 
Hope in remembrance. 

“ I would not that thy life were sad 
Because of our drear fate, 

Nor would I have thee wholly glad 
While I am forced to wait.” 

The lines ended here, and Gustav read them over 
again, a dim presentiment quickening his pulses. 
Selaka had shown him Inarime’s writing, beautiful, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


265 

finished^like those delicate manuscripts which we have 
inherited from the old days of cloistered leisure. Surely 
this was the work of the same hand, and the quiet sad- 
ness of the verses swept him like a message from the 
dead. 

“ Do you know who wrote this? ” he asked slowly. 

“Yes,” Rudolph answered, indisposed to be com- 
municative. 

“A lady?” 

“You think the handwriting a lady's? ” 

“ I do. I fancy I have seen it before.” 

“Let me see. Were you not staying fora short 
time on one of the Greek islands ? ” 

“ Yes ; Tenos.” 

“Then you perhaps met her. Oh, I am sure of it 
now,” cried Rudolph, springing up and glaring into 
Reineke’s face. 

Reineke said nothing, but bent his eyes reverently 
upon the sheet of paper. Might he steal it ? If he had 
been alone he would have kissed it. 

“Why don’t you answer me, Herr Reineke?” Ru- 
dolph persisted. 

‘ ‘ Answer you ? What ? ” 

“There is somebody else, I know. I learnt it the 
other night. Tell me. Is it you ? ” he demanded. 

“ Herr Ehrenstein, is it too much to beg an expla- 
nation of these somewhat enigmatic questions ? ” 
retorted Gustav. 

But Ehrenstein eagerly noted that his eyes never 
once left the piece of paper in his hand. 

“It is unworthy to trifle with me in this way. I see 
that you know her, and that you understand too well 


266 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


the meaning of those lines. They are perhaps ad- 
dressed to you.” 

“ And if it were so? ” said Gustav, coldly. 

“It would be better to know it at once. Anything 
would be better than this suspense. Listen, I will tell 
you something I overheard one night in a conversation 
between my uncle and her father.” 

“ Her father ? Is Selaka here ? ” cried Gustav. 

“ He is. And so is she.” 

“She! here? In this house? Now?” exclaimed 
Gustav, jumping up. 

“She is out now with my aunt. They will be back 
soon.” 

“ Good God ! ” muttered Reineke, sitting down, and 
holding his head in his hands. “Should I go — or 
shall I stay ? ” 

“Then you are the man. Listen to what I heard 
last night. My uncle told Selaka that he would be 
glad to see his daughter my wife — oh, don’t fly into a 
rage, we are not engaged, and I see by your angry 
smile you don’t think it likely to come to pass. Well, 
Selaka said he liked me, and in his estimation, my birth 
and social position were a set-off against my deficiencies 
in classical lore. But there is an impediment. His 
daughter has recently made the heaviest sacrifice a 
woman can make for her father, and he could not pain 
her by asking her to choose a successor to the lover she 
gave up for him. You are the lover, I know. Why 
did she give you up ? ” 

“ Because I am a Turk.” 

“A Turk! You!” 

Rudolph burst into a harsh laugh, and stopped sud- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


267 

denly when his ear caught the sound of a carriage drawn 
up outside. He glanced quickly out of the window. 

“She has come, Monsieur le Sultan,” he announced, 
sarcastically. 

Both men stood still, and rapid steps approached. 
Through the half-open door the flutter of silken raiment 
w T as heard brushing the floor, and the baroness stood 
before them, looking courteous interrogation. 

“This is Herr Reineke,” said Rudolph, in German. 

“Oh, M. Reineke,” the baroness exclaimed, in French. 
“This is indeed a pleasure. You will stay and dine 
with us in a friendly way. No ceremony. The baron 
will keep you company in morning attire. It will be 
delightful, as the unexpected always is.” 

Gustav declined politely, and glanced beyond her. 
There stood Inarime with a look of unmistakable rap- 
ture and alarm upon her face. 

The baroness introduced them ; they bowed, but 
did not dare trust themselves to speech or hand- 
clasp. 

“Must you go at once, Herr Reineke?” asked the 
baroness, remarking the glory on his face. 

“Madame, I must,” he said, and Rudolph saw that 
Inarime started violently, as if the sound of his voice 
thrilled her like pain. 

Reineke shook hands with the baroness, not conscious 
that he was making all sorts of impossible promises, 
and then turned silently to the mute, harrowing elo- 
quence of Inarime’s gaze, with one as unbearable in its 
piercing tenderness. Rudolph accompanied him down- 
stairs and said nothing until Reineke held out his hand 
at the door. 


263 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“No, I cannot touch your hand, Herr Reineke. We 
must not meet again, ” he said, grimly. 

“As you wish, Herr Ehrenstein. I am sorry for you, 
but, as you see, 1 have not much cause for self-congratu- 
lation for myself.” 

Rudolph said nothing, and flung away from him. 

In the little salon he found Inarime alone, with her 
head bent down upon the table over her folded arms. 

“ You love that man, Fraulein ? ” he asked in German, 
which she spoke more fluently tha.n French. 

“ I do,” she said, simply, hardly troubled by the im- 
pertinence of the question. 

“And there is no chance — none — for me? ’ 

“ I do not understand you, Herr Ehrenstein.” 

Did she even hear him, as she stared out with that 
intense look strained beyond her prison through the 
bright streets traversed by Gustav? 

“I, too, love you, Fraulein. I would die for you. 
You have taken from me my rest, my happiness, my 
self-respect. Everything I yield to you — honour, man- 
hood, independence. Gladly will I accept slavery at 
your bidding. I care for nothing but you. Is there no 
hope for me? Your father will approve my suit . — He is 
banished.” 

Inarime gazed scorn and loathing upon him. There 
were hardly words strong enough with which to reject 
such an offer, so made and at such a time. 

“Leave me, Herr Ehrenstein. You force me abruptly 
to terminate my stay under your uncle’s roof.” 

She turned her back upon him, and when he broke 
out into fierce and incoherent apologies, she swept past 
him out of the room. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


269 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A DRAUGHT FROM CIRCE’S CUP. 

There was no hope for it. Harmony fled the Aus- 
trian Embassy. It had already been bruited that young 
Ehrenstein was inconveniently demanded by a blood- 
thirsty warrior, whose sister he had jilted in a scan- 
dalous way. The report reached Selaka’s ear, and he 
looked askance upon the perfidious youth. At first the 
baron dismissed the affair with a laugh, then, upon 
scandal mounting higher, and taking a shriller tone, he 
questioned Rudolph, and being a gentleman, expressed 
himself in very strong terms upon the young reprobate’s 
conduct. 

Rudolph had sulked and fretted and made every- 
body around him only a degree less uncomfortable than 
himself. Twice he had started to go to Andromache 
and confess the full extent of his iniquity, but he had not 
had the courage to face the ordeal. If she should cry, 
or reproach him, or meet him with sad silence ! it would 
be equally unbearable, and there would be nothing 
left for him but to go away and cut his throat. What 
was the good of anything ? Life was a blunder, a fret, 
a torment. Without any evil in him, kindly, pure, sweet 
natured, here was he involved in a mesh of inextricable 
troubles, behaving to a dear and innocent child like an 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


270 

arrant villain. And all the while his heart bled for 
her, and in any moment left him by the haunting 
thought of Inarime, he was pursued by the soft pain of 
Andromache’s pretty eyes. 

But every one blamed him, and all Athens spoke of 
him as a heartless scoundrel. The baroness, who was 
coldly condemnatory, suggested a return to Austria. 
The baron, sarcastic, plagued him in the “I warned 
you” tone. 

“You are much too sentimental and susceptible, 
Rudolph, for a life of idleness. You have yet to learn 
the art of trifling gracefully and uncompromisingly. 
Remember, a man has not to choose between being a 
victim or a brute. You have proved yourself both to 
that little Athenian — first the victim and then the brute. 
Now, my advice to you is, go back to Rapoldenkirchen. 
Meditate instructively upon the excellent advantages 
you have had here, and resolve to continue your 
education in matters feminine with the married ladies. 
Avoid girls as you would avoid poison, until you are 
ready to fix yourself in reasonable harness with one 
particular girl, whom I advise you to choose as little as 
possible like yourself. Vienna or Paris will be of infinite 
service to you just now, and if you like, I could use my 
influence to obtain you a diplomatic post. As long as 
you remain in this state of lamentable idleness, so long 
will your life be precarious.” 

But this excellent counsel had fallen on dull ears. 
An hour after Inarime’s rejection, Rudolph started to go 
to Andromache, and instead of cutting through Academy 
Street, as he should have done, he turned up towards 
the barrack, and before even he was aware of the 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


271 

propelling instinct that pushed him, he was knocking 
at Photini’s door. 

“Is Mademoiselle Natzelhuber visible ? ” he asked of 
Polyxena, with an indifference of look and tone not at 
all assumed. 

“She is upstairs, if that is what you mean,” cried 
Polyxena, and left him to shut the door behind him. 

He walked up the steep stone stairs without a sign 
of hurry or purpose, and rapped listlessly at Photini’s 
door. In response to a loud “Come in,” he entered, 
and found Photini in the midst of her cats and dogs, 
reading the “ Palingenesia.” She threw away the 
shabby little newspaper, and made room for him on the 
sofa beside her, eyeing him with a look of sharp scrutiny. 

“'Well? ” she said. 

“I am most abjectly miserable, Photini,” he said, and 
sat down beside her, staring at the floor.” 

“You look it, my friend.” 

“ I suppose so. Photini, I want you to let me stay 
with you.” 

“Stay with me ! What the deuce do you mean ? ” 

“ Just what I say. There are no words to describe 
my wretchedness. I am sick of everything and every- 
body. You, at least, won’t criticise or blame. Your 
own life has not been so successful that you need cen- 
sure very harshly the blunders of mine.” 

He looked at her drearily, unnotingly, and yet he 
felt drawn to her by an immense personal sympathy 
and a kind of remembered affection that nothing could 
ever quite obliterate. 

“Oh, for that, I am not disposed to censure any one 
but the smug hypocrites, who talk religion and virtue 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


27 2 

until one longs to fling something in their faces. For 
the idiots I have a tremendous weakness, I confess.” 

“You care a little for me, don’t you, Photini ? ” Ru- 
dolph cried, like a forsaken child. 

Photini moved towards him, and gathered him into 
her arms. 

“I love you furiously, you wretched boy,” she 
exclaimed, and held him to her. “But just because 
you are an idiot, you are not to pay any heed to it. ” 

Rudolph for answer flung his arms round her, laid 
his head upon her bosom, and burst into wild hysteric 
sobs. 

“Oh, you baby! ” shouted Photini, trying to shake 
him off, but he only clung to her the more convul- 
sively, and tightened his clasp of her until she could 
hardly breathe. 

“Finish! this is absurd. What has happened to 
you, child ? ” 

“Everybody is against me,” he said, striving hard 
to choke back his tears. “I hate myself. I have 
made a mess of everything, and I wish I were dead.” 

“ That is why you have come to me, I suppose. If 
you are destined to be damned in the next world, you 
are willing to begin the operation in this,” said Photini, 
drily. 

“I want to stay with you. If you repulse me, Pho- 
tini, I swear I’ll go straightway and blow my brains 
out.” 

“It would not be much worse.” 

“ Than staying with you ? ” 

“Yes, than staying with me. The one would be fol- 
lowed by an inquest and a funeral — and behold a swift 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


2 73 

and respectable end. The other — my friend, have you 
measured its consequences ? ” 

“ Yes ; we should have a great deal of music all to 
ourselves. We might go away to France or Algiers, 
and I should forget Athens.” 

“No, you would not. There is no such thing as for- 
getfulness until you take to drink, and then you only 
forget when you are drunk. The instant you be- 
come sober, memory probes your empty heart more 
strongly than ever.” 

“Then we will drink together, Photini,” cried Ru- 
dolph, recklessly. “Give me some brandy.” 

“I will not. I insist on your going back to that 
silly chit you’ve treated so badly. Dry her eyes — 
they are very pretty eyes, my friend Rudolph, and a 
man might be less agreeably employed. She’ll soon 
forgive you if you manage to look penitent enough. I 
boxed her ears once, and I like her all the better for it. 
Tell her an old woman who loves you sent you back 
to her.” 

“Photini, you are not old, ” protested Rudolph, 
disinclined to speak of Andromache to her. “Come 
back to the point. Will you have me? You say you 
love me.” 

“ Rudolph, you are an ass. Don’t you see that I am 
trying to save you? What does it matter for myself? 
You, Agiropoulos, another, — it is all the same. My 
life is blotted, ruined, disfigured past redemption. One 
liaison more or less cannot practically affect me. But 
with you it is different. You are a delicately-trained 
boy, of fastidious tastes. You are unfit to battle with 
the coarser elements of life. A robuster morale and a 

18 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


274 

less dainty nature than yours can buffet and wrestle 
with brutal conditions, and be none the worse for a hun- 
dred false steps, but you will sink irretrievably upon 
the first. Vice sits indifferently well on some of us, 
and on others most deplorably. That is why women 
sink so much more rapidly than men. Despair and 
self-contempt are stones that hang fatally round their 
necks, and this,” she said, pointing to a flask of brandy, 
“helps them to carry the weight until they are crushed 
by it.” 

“It will help me, too, I’ve no doubt,” said Rudolph. 

“ It is from that I would save you, and from the rest. 
It is not my habit to express my opinions. I despise 
people too much to talk seriously to them, but I am 
not only a musical machine in the lucid pauses of a 
toper. I have thought a little, too, and I know what I 
have lost.” 

She was walking up and down the room with her 
hands joined behind her, and there was a glow upon 
her strange face that made it almost noble. When she 
had finished, she stood in front of Rudolph, scanned 
him closely, and asked : 

“ Are you going ? I have had quite enough of this 
sort of thing. ” 

“I am not going, Photini. My mind is made up. 
I will stay with you. Be kind to me. Say you want 
me.” 

“I must not, for then I could not bring myself to 
give you up. Go away, and think over it. Mind, I 
would far rather you did not come back, and I think I 
should be able to kiss with gratitude a note from you 
telling me you had gone back to that girl.” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


275 


“You will get no such note from me, for I am 
going to stay now/’ Rudolph exclaimed, impetuously. 

“You are a fool. There, I would have saved you 
— now, it is as heaven wills it. But please remember 
this. When you come to repent this step, as you will 
surely in a week, a month, or a year, have the good- 
ness not to bluster and expend your rage on me, or lay 
your folly to my account.” 

Rudolph laughed bitterly. 

“ I think, mademoiselle, you would very soon make 
short work of me and my bluster and rage,” he said. 

“ Well, yes, I believe I should be able for that emer- 
gency.” 

“Photini, will you play me the ‘ Barcarolle '? ” 
Rudolph asked, as he rubbed his cheek caressingly 
against her arm. 

She stooped over him, kissed his hair and forehead, 
and their lips met in a burning kiss — Rudolph’s first. 


276 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AGAMEMNON AND IPHIGENIA. 

We can imagine how the fabric, sedulously raised by 
Constantine’s pursuit of his family’s fortune and ad- 
vancement, tottered, shook, and fell utterly to pieces 
upon that one exchanged look between Inarime and 
Gustav. He in the world, and she the wife of another 
man ! She loathed herself that such should have been 
deemed possible of her. She acknowledged her father’s 
right to her obedience, and it was difficult for her to 
imagine her will in disjunction from his. But surely 
there are limits to a daughter’s obligations — most wise 
limits set by nature, whose laws are still more imper- 
ative than man’s. We may defy the laws of man, and 
sometimes their defiance is proof of nobler instinct. 
But the laws of nature, — these are inexorable, and her 
punishments are fatally swift. Body and mind were set 
in revolution against this cold commercial alliance. 
Her soul in arms told her that it would be a bodily 
degradation under which her mind would inevitably 
sink. 

She had been trained to reason and to think, to hold 
her words in subjection to her reason, and restrain the 
impulsiveness of her sex. Expediency, she had been 
taught, may be a qualified virtue, though founded on 
the meanest basis, and she had been recommended to 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


2 77 


weigh its component parts in particular cases, before 
pronouncing judgment. Hitherto she had been wise to 
detect the logical issues of any situation presented to 
her for the reading, and thus had gained, in the mind 
of the villagers, the reputation of a wise young coun- 
sellor, whose head was filled with all the natural pre- 
cepts of sagacity, But that swift, immediate contact 
with flame and fire, the frantic surrender to an untried 
glance, threw her back upon herself, with shaken faith, 
in the grasp of wavering moods of stupefaction and self- 
contempt lit by the lamp of burning bliss. 

She saw her folly but did not repudiate it — the god- 
desses of old had yielded to the sovereign passion upon 
as little pressure. One of the features of Immortality 
is its royal dispensation with the tedious form of woo- 
ing invented by the weak mortals. Nineteen years of 
a purity as glacial as Artemis’ before she had given 
that one kiss to the sleeping boy, were as an unremem- 
bered dream, blotted from her mind without regret or 
shame, upon meeting of eyes that held her own in glad 
subjection. The thrill of captured maidenhood was 
still upon her, and O, faithlessness most grievous to 
the noble captor ! she had half pledged herself to take 
a husband. 

“ I cannot ! ” she cried aloud, stung keenly by the 
horror and the gracelessness of such submission. 

And then, to accentuate her anguish, the figure of 
Oidas for the first time rose sharp and distinct upon 
her vision, to fix her in the travail of repugnance. 
Until now he had passed before her, a scarce-recog- 
nised nonentity, wafted past her upon sugary strains 
of Verdi and Bellini, through the odours of many 


278 DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 

flowers. Now he stood out in cruel relief against the 
background of a holy memory. She saw his high 
shoulders, .with a slight outward droop curving sud- 
denly inward, and making a grotesque narrowness of 
chest, like a bird of prey curved in upon its wings, 
and she caught herself smiling at the picture. She 
detected the material contentions of the oily simper 
and too affable expression in the small black eyes, 
noted ruthlessly the uncertainty of the spindle shanks 
that did lean duty for legs, and the ungraceful flow 
of the long loose frock coat. 

It was borne in then upon her that she unconquer- 
ably disliked Oidas, and that pressure would change 
that dislike to positive and passionate aversion. Does 
not youth demand youth for its mate ? strength and 
beauty their like? Was she to stand Namely by, and 
let her youth and strength and beauty be given 
away to mean and dwindling age such as his? 
He had not even the godlike attribute of power 
upon which she could let herself be whirled into 
possession, shutting her eyes in the make-believe of 
fatality. Theseus may carry off an unloving Helen, 
but at least he is a hero. Helen may repine and re- 
volt, but she feels that the arms that imprison her are 
strong and conquering arms. She may hate, but she 
will not despise, — and contempt is the one thing 
women will not endure. Let the ravisher but possess 
superb qualities, and pardon may eventually be his. 
Pride, sitting apart, is nourished on their contemplation 
though the heart be starving, and it is a fine thing to 
be able to sustain alien pride in a woman. But a man 
like Oidas, the epitome of male commonplace, held 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


279 

out no future hope of an honourable compromise 
between pride and the heart’s exactions. Tied to him, 
she would pass through life a mean and pitiable figure, 
read in the light of her ignoble choice. It is not given 
to many women to wed romance, and the curious want 
of fastidiousness with which the sex may be charged, 
its readiness to take shabby and uninteresting mates, 
is one Of the best proofs that any man can get a wife. 
But if a woman once let her glance dwell upon a live 
figure of a romance, it is astonishing how complete 
will be her discovery of the general ill looks and unat- 
tractiveness of men. Until Inarime had seen Gustav, 
she had not remarked whether nature favoured men 
physically or not. But now it was the appearance of 
Oidas that told most emphatically against him. Nature 
had shown her what she could do for a man when she 
chose to be in a poetic mood, and she was not disposed 
to accept the exchange of a monkey shivering in a frock- 
coat. 

The warm blood running fire through her now petu- 
lant veins taught her how mad was her former belief 
that she could meet the sacrifice her father proposed 
with resigned endurance. The revolt of her body was 
as fierce as that of her soul. Marriage was not like 
a commercial partnership in which each party lives 
on certain ground a life apart. It was the complete 
enslavement of an existence, the surrendering of private 
thought, of the sanctuaries of mind and person. No 
escape. Concealment would be subterfuge, the man’s, 
dishonour the wife’s. Habit would be tyranny, the 
faintest demonstration of an unshared affection an op- 
pression. She rose up at this thought with cheeks dyed 


28 o 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


scarlet, so acute was her apprehension of its meaning, 
and then dropped among her pillows, and hurried to 
hide from the shame of it under the protecting sheets. 

No, she could not ! Less cruel far was the old sac- 
rifice at Aulis. Iphigenia might well bow to her 
fathers awful decision while her soul was unscourged 
by the scorpion whips of such degradation. The fire 
in her brain and the burn of hot dry eyelids kept her 
awake all night, pursued by terrible images of an un- 
holy future, and her first thought, when the dawn 
touched light upon the window-panes, was to seek her 
father and intercept him before he left the Embassy. 
She knew he purposed going out early, intending to 
add to his notes at the University library, for the Ger- 
man meeting. 

“ Father,” she cried, in a voice of resolution he was 
quick to feel there was no shaking, “ I must leave this 
house at once. You will go and make my excuses to 
the baron, while I will knock at the baroness’ door.” 

“What has happened, child? You look disturbed 
and ill,” Selaka exclaimed, in wonderment. 

“I will tell you when we are gone,” she said, grow- 
ing whiter at the prospect of giving voice to the night’s 
sufferings. “ Go now, dear father, and wait for me in 
the courtyard. ” 

“I did believe my daughter was not capricious.” 

“Papa,” she pleaded, childishly, “love me a little, 
be kind to me. Do what I ask.” 

> Selaka mused half-angrily, as he went in search of 
the baron, so thoroughly mystified that he almost appre- 
hended being unfitted for learned society that morning : 

“Ah, why are these explosive engines, known as 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


281 


daughters, born to poor harassed man ? We idly propa- 
gate them as candles to attract the moths around us ; 
to dismay us with their flutter and impertinent impor- 
tunities magnets to attract violent impulses, and run 
them cantering in rivalry/’ 

Wrapped up in his own vexed thoughts, he had long 
been perceived by Reineke at the German school before 
he recognised the fatal Turk. He bowed coldly, flushed 
perceptibly under the eyes. The fellow was a man to 
be proud of, he felt, a man in a million, an ideal son-in- 
law, and hotly rebuked himself for thinking it. He 
moved as far away from Reineke as possible, and fell 
into eager conversation with a Russian professor. 

The Russian informed him that the French school 
had curtly declined to attend, with the added discour- 
tesy of offering no excuse whatsoever. 

‘ ‘ Ye gods ! Is not the ground of archaeology even to 
be neutral ?” thundered Selaka. “Must politics here 
be thrust upon us, and have us by the ears in a fret of 
jarring and wrangling ? It is not a question of marriage. 
If civility did not suggest it, policy ought to teach them 
to take what Germany, with her science and perseve- 
rance has to offer them, and be thankful for the gift. 
Let them sulk, and it will do nobody any harm but 
themselves/' 

“The French minister's nephew, a very charming 
young fellow, has sent an unofficial letter of apology 
on his own behalf. He was invited because of a couple 
of interesting and graceful articles he wrote for. the 
Revue des deux Mondes. It is known that he received 
orders to stay away/ 

It was an imposing assembly. The nations of the 


282 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


civilised world were represented by their Embassies 
and schools, all except sulking France. The blooming 
half of humanity was present in a dozen or so of choice 
souls, to deck the scene with their flowery robes and 
bright hues. The loud murmur of mingled tongues was 
stopped by Herr Julius Dunckler stepping forward to 
open the proceedings formally by a neat little speech an- 
nouncing that the paper of the day would be read by 
his very youthful but learned colleague, Herr Gustav 
Reineke. The theme was the everlasting Theatre, a 
theme happily not exhausted, and matter still for re- 
search. Herr Reineke had visited every spot of ground 
that could be of use to him in the patient analysis of 
his subject, and his views were so forcibly put forward, 
his erudition was so minute and vast at the same time, 
that it seemed to him, the director of the German 
School of Archaeology, that it would be a pleasure and 
a gain for other workers like himself in that wide field, 
to assemble and amicably discuss Herr Reineke’s paper. 
The paper, he stated, was translated into English and 
French for those present who could not understand 
German. 

Upon invitation, Gustav took his place upon the plat- 
form and the ladies at least were unanimous in their 
admiration of his handsome and distinguished presence. 

“He looks a scholar and a gentleman to boot,” mur- 
mured Mrs. Mowbray-Thomas. 

His voice was grave and musically measured, with 
an Oriental soft sonorousness which captivated his 
hearers. His face was impassive in its noble earnest- 
ness, its strength toned by delicate beauty, lit with the 
fine glow of intellect. When he came to the end of his 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


283 

reading, he bowed in acknowledgment of the applause 
that greeted it, and, stepping backward, his eyes sought 
Selaka through the crowd. He was quick to detect the 
flame of affectionate pride that involuntarily leaped into 
the old man's answering look, and a chill from excessive 
hope ran through his members in a visible shudder. 

He beat his way through congratulating strangers 
till he stood beside Selaka’s chair. 

“Your hand? ” he said, under his breath, extending 
his own tentatively, and, seeing it grasped, added, 
with an ingratiating smile : “It is not withheld/' 

“ And wherefore ? I am proud of you, proud for you, 
honoured by the distinction,” Selaka answered, huskily, 
while he followed the crowd towards the door. 

“Ah, sir, it is a barren pride for you and me,” said 
Gustav, keeping close to his side. 

Gustav understood that he was dismissed, but with 
pardonable pertinacity resolved to force Selaka to speak 
to him of Inarime, and walked beside him. 

“She is well ? ” he almost entreated. 

“Very well,” Selaka admitted slowly, not trusting 
himself to recognise the hungry question in the other’s 
eyes. 

“ Her beauty has made some stir here,” he added 
in a naive exposure of paternal vanity. “You have 
heard ? ” 

“No, I arrived yesterday. The town's gossip has 
not reached me.” 

A thrill of insufferable horror shot through him at the 
hideous picture of Inarime’s beauty the theme of men’s 
discourse and the object of their ugly scrutiny. The 
Turk was thus far strong within him, that if possible 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


284 

he would have had her shielded from alien homage, 
guarded the bloom and perfume of her beauty for his 
own exclusive possession. 

After a pause, filled in with conjecture and flashes of 
memory, he turned again to Selaka. 

“Am I still an outcast, sir?” 

“Outcast! You know that I esteem you — truly, 
cordially.” 

“ For yourself. But for her — in that sense I mean it. ” 

“ I cannot alter the sentence pronounced.” 

“Ah!” Gustav interjected, drawing in his breath 
sharply. “It is so hard on me. I hope, I believe, it 
is hard on her, too.” 

“She is sensible. She will resign herself to marry 
the man I have chosen for her.” 

“Young Ehrenstein !” Gustav almost shouted, with 
a start. 

“Can you ask ? He is a fool and a villain. A fellow 
who does not know his own mind, is betrothed to one 
woman, loves another, and levants with a third.” 

“Such a choice would indeed be tragic for her,” 
Gustav said, sardonically. “ Has she consented ? ” 

“Partly.” 

“ It is incredible to me, sir. You shock me. You 
unnerve me. I desire to remain cool, but the picture 
you force upon me is unbearable, vile, discordant. 
Inarime wedded — and not to me ! Impossible ! I will 
not accept it. ” 

“Hush! You have no choice. Ido not offer an 
alternative,” interposed Selaka, judicially. 

“But, sir, you have a tender love for her. Think of 
the cruelty, the shame and agony for her ! She is all 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, \ 


285 

delicacy and sensitiveness. To have given herself to 
me, and now to be asked to accept another ! It is the 
most abominable desecration of maidenhood ! She can- 
not, she will not! Be reasonable. Think of her, sir.” 

“Of whom else do you suppose I think, Herr ” 

but Selaka could not bring himself to pronounce the false 
name, and his tongue shrank with violent repugnance 
from the other. 

“ Drop the name,” Gustav implored, seeing his hesi- 
tation. 

“I do not doubt your tender regard for her, but I do 
most emphatically deny that it is possible for you to see 
the position with the eyes of youth. Oh, I understand. 
You deem me jealous. If that were all. Nay, then it 
would be worse, for I should doubt her. And I do not. 

I could answer for her with my life. You are driving 
her to an ignoble compliance. You wish her to be safe 
from me.” 

“You have guessed rightly. I shall not feel secure 
until she has passed into other hands — hands that will 
bind her and you with stronger fetters than mine.” 

“Oh, how wrong you are ! How you misjudge 
me ! Have I tried to write to her, to see her? Yester- 
day we met, — we did not even touch hands, we said 
no word.” 

It was Selaka’s turn to start. 

“She did not tell me,” he muttered. “To-day she 
met me with a troubled aspect, and prayed to be taken 
away. ” 

“Poor child ! Why will you make it harder for her? 
Have you the heart to grieve her so ? Why, oh, why 
put this heavy burden on the young shoulders you 


286 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


should cherish ? I will not harass you. I will not 
thwart your plans.” 

“You are talking complete nonsense,” Selaka re- 
sponded, testily. “ A father must marry his daughter, 
if only to feel she will be protected after his death.” 

“Protected! Inarime unprotected! You madden 
me. But for myself I do not complain ; — nay, I do 
most bitterly. Kyrie Selaka, is this your last word? ” 

“It is.” 

“Will nothing — nothing I can say shake you?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You are a second Agamemnon,” Gustav cried, and 
turned away with weary, angry eyes and white lips. 

Pericles opened his mouth to call him back, shut it, 
drove down the unsaid words with a heavy sigh, and 
walked slowly towards his brother's house. 

Constantine greeted him in the hall with an emphatic 
look, pointed to the inner room and shrugged his shoul- 
ders. 

“She is in there, pacing for all the world like a raven- 
ous tiger. Women are cats. They spring and tread 
delicately, with glittering, rageful eyes, and make you 
listen, in spite of yourself, for the ominous hiss and 
spit, or the soft caressing purr. I would not marry that 
young woman for her weight in gold. That reminds 
me. O’ldas is bothering me about the engagement. 
He complains that it is indefinite, that Inarime has 
stayed too long at that confounded Embassy, and that 
you keep him on tenter-hooks. It is all over Athens 
about young Ehrenstein. The senseless whelp ! Oidas 
is frantic, insists he has been injuriously trifled with ; 
in short, nothing but an immediate marriage will satisfy 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, 


287 

him. He is the snarling dog that shows his teeth upon 
provocation, and is perhaps more dangerous, if not 
more discomposing, than the spitting cat.” 

“ It is all right, Constantine. Oidas is correct in his 
statement that he has been somewhat unfairly dealt 
with, in so far as his answer has been unduly delayed. 
This accident of Ehrenstein’s — the Fates confound him 
and the Furies overtake him! — teaches me that the 
conclusion of the bargain must be speedily arrived at. 

I cannot have my daughter s name dubiously upon the 
lips of chattering fools. Oidas will be apprised this 
afternoon of my decision.” 

He swung into the other room, and a face of piercing 
eagerness and demand met his ! 

“ Inarime, you must be ready to marry Kyrios Oidas 
at once,” he began, without any thoughtful prelimi- 
naries. 

“It is of that I wished to speak to you, father,” she 
said, in a dreary quiescence that filled him with hope. 

“ Come, this promises well. My dear girl is reason- 
able.” 

“ He sent me those,” she said, pointing to a small 
stack of roses, jonquils and heliotrope, that lay a ne- 
glected litter, upon the table, and appealed to her senses 
in revolt with a nauseating sweetness. “And this let- 
ter. He is giving a fancy ball, and wishes me to attend 
publicly as his bride. ” 

“ The wish does him honour, and is but natural and 
manly. You must get over this fancied repugnance, 
my girl. You will have to marry him. It is my reso- 
lution.” 

He spoke with a harshness quite foreign to him, but 


288 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


its adoption nerved him to show her a front of ada- 
mant. 

“Father, I will not,” she cried — screamed nearly. 

“ Will not? ” he asked, his brows shooting into a 
significant arch, and his eyes, for the first time in the 
interview, holding hers in question. 

“ Cannot,” she breathed, in a lower tone, with an air 
of weakness that touched him horribly. 

“ You see your position. It is for you to obey.” 

She caught her breath in a sound held between a sob 
and a hiss, rebellion gathering ominously about the 
dark brows. 

“You are within your rights, I know. But, oh ! 
father, how can you stand out for paternal authority in 
the face of my most utter misery ? ” 

“ But, Inarime, this is what I cannot understand,” he 
protested, returning to their old footing of equality. 
“ Why should the thought of this marriage — a wholly 
respectable alliance — irritate you and make you miser- 
able ? ” 

“ It is not he ! ” she whispered, breathlessly. 

“ Fudge ! ” 

“ Father, will you at least try to face the situation 
with a woman's mind and instinct. Believe me, it is 
no contemptible mind or instinct that makes us shrink 
from an abhorrent marriage. We may not have heads 
clear as yours, but our instincts are as finely responsive 
to the promptings of nature as a watch is delicately ac- 
curate in its measurements of time. Your brains may 
err and falsely interpret. Our hearts cannot, unless art 
interferes. I speak now of uneducated woman pitted 
against educated man. In these things he will have 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


289 

much to learn from her. We are limited in our nature, 
father, and that which you ask of me is impossible. ” 

“ I hear it. Nothing is impossible when it 

simply depends on the good-will and common-sense of 
the person. It is my punishment for having brought 
you up as a boy. All my love and thought and care 
were for you, and this is my reward. You seek to dis- 
turb and thwart me on the very first occasion that 
brings our wills into collision. A growing child is like 
a peach, soft and bloomy to the touch, sweet to the 
taste, until you come to the heart, where you find bitter- 
ness and hardness. What can it matter whom you 
marry, when you cannot marry him A ” 

“ Oh, it is easy enough for you to speak as a spec- 
tator. You will not be marrying the man, and it makes 
all the difference. The servitude, the loathing, the 
degradation will be mine to bear, and only a girl can 
feel that. ” 

“A girl ! a woman ! Will you not taunt me with 
your boast of nicer feeling. This Oidas, on your own 
admission, was not specially distasteful to you.” 

“ That was when you had not proposed him for a 
husband.” 

“ Ouf ! One notes the unreasonable sex in that re- 
tort. What has my simple proposal to do with the 
man. If he were a detestable fellow you would have 
hated him from the beginning. Nothing but the un- 
conquerable passion for worrying and grieving and 
turning everybody topsy-turvy, that is born in every 
woman, would make my desire to marry you to him 
paint him to you in blacker colours.” 

“It would be the same with any man you might 
i9 


290 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


think fit to propose. If it is the fault of my sex, I can- 
not in reason be held responsible for it. It is not my 
fault that I am not born an exception. And I will ad- 
mit, father, in this case I would infinitely prefer to 
follow the general rule/’ she added, bitterly. 

“ There, there, my girl, don’t fret me with unkind 
speech. I have yielded to temper, I know, and am 
sorry for it. You have ever been a solace and a joy to 
me, and if I have set my heart on this matter, it is en- 
tirely for your good. You must marry some one.” 

She allowed him passively to fondle her hand, but 
her face was still troubled and cold. Why was it so 
difficult for him, if he loved her, to understand and ap- 
preciate the nature of her repugnance ? Are a girl’s 
objections never to count when others have her welfare 
in view ? 

“ One would think I were disgraced, and marriage 
necessary at once as a shield for my reputation,” she 
retorted, crimsoning hotly, held by a sense of audacity 
and shame, as the full meaning of her words rushed 
upon her. 

“ Those are words it requires all my tenderness to 
forgive, Inarime,” said Pericles, gravely. “You won- 
der at my anxiety to marry you. Is it not simply a 
father’s duty? It is, moreover, a duty women, good 
women, owe to the State.” 

“The State ! ” Inarime exclaimed, with a look of 
surprised indignation. “ What do good women, as 
you say, owe the State more than others ? ” 

Selaka stared at her incredulously. Could this be his 
child ? This young woman, lashed by angry passions, 
and stinging him in turn by sharp, impertinent speech ! 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


291 

“They owe it the duty to marry and bring up their 
children befittingly and intelligently.” 

“You accept too readily that every good woman is 
capable of this. It requires, I imagine, special gifts, a 
special capacity, to bring up children befittingly and in- 
telligently. It is wiser to count on the stupidity and 
capacity of the average.” 

“Granted. O, I grant you that with full conviction. 
Still, we cannot let the race die out because, unfortu- 
nately, parents are for the most part idiots and criminals. 
The State is wiser to assume they are the reverse.” 

“Then means should be taken by the State to see 
that the young are fitted for their future responsibilities. 
I have met some very charming young ladies here at 
Athens — charming, until you have had time to discover 
that they are for the most part insipid, uneducated and 
silly. I have nothing to say against them. They were 
prettily apparelled and amused me. They chatter engag- 
ingly — about nothing. They tell me they have been 
for years studying the piano, with no result, and that 
they have learned at least four foreign tongues for pur- 
poses of social intercourse — not study. I am curious 
to know how it could enter the brains of anyone to sus- 
pect these pretty toys of a capacity for bringing up their 
children intelligently. And yet they will marry, and 
will doubtless be considered to have accomplished their 
duty to the uncritical State.” 

“Well, well, that is not our concern, happily. You, 
at least, are not similarly situated. The hours spent by 
you on study have been spent to some purpose. The 
only objection I see to Kyrios Oidas is, that he is some- 
what old. I would very willingly have changed him 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


292 

for young Herr Rudolph because of his youth and social 
position. He loves you, Inarime, he avowed it franti- 
cally to me. But just as I had made up my mind 
to effect the alteration of bridegrooms, ©« he 
explodes in a flame of ugly scandal, leaving the full 
theatrical smell of fire and brimstone behind him. Faust 
carried off by a female Mephistopheles ! Ouf ! This 
world ! ” 

Inarime walked across the room, pressed her forehead 
against the window, and stood gazing into the street in 
disconsolate perplexity. Selaka joined her, and placed 
his hand affectionately on her shoulders. 

“We have been equally in the wrong towards one 
another, my dear one,” he said. “We have forgotten 
the seemly restraints of speech, and in our smarting 
anger and disappointment, have drawn largely upon the 
copper of language, as if our minds had never fed upon 
its gold. I am ashamed and grieved. Antigone would 
not have spoken to (Edipus as you, my child, have to- 
day spoken to me ; and (Edipus would not so completely 
have forfeited the respect that was due to him. To get 
back into the old groove, we will separate and meditate 
a while apart. In the light of reflection, you will see 
that what I ask is for your sole good. If this story of 
young Ehrenstein gets abroad, you will be unpleasantly 
mixed up with it, and marriage will be your best, and, 
in fact, your only shield from evil surmise. You do not 
doubt my great love, child ? ” 

Still hurt and dismayed, Inarime withheld the be- 
sought-for look of reconciliation. Her shoulders moved 
with an uncontrollable sob ; this marriage revolted her, 
and held her silent. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 293 

“My daughter! my dearest! Look at me, your 
father, Inarime.” 

She turned her head slowly, stretched out her arms, 
and was enfolded in his. Their embrace was broken 
by a loud and frantic entrance. Constantine rushed in, 
holding a newspaper in his hand, followed close by 
O'fdas, whose face wore an expression of vindictive 
spite. 

“ Pericles, ” roared poor Constantine, shaken out of 
his wits, “ look at this ! The wretches ! the liars ! Read 
it.” 

He thrust the paper into his brother’s hands, and 
began violently to wipe the perspiration from his fore- 
head. Pericles had just time for a hurried glance at the 
garbled and extremely malicious version of the Ehren- 
stein romance in the ‘ ‘ Aristophanes, in which Inarime s 
name was printed in full, with a minute description of 
her person, when O'idas broke out : 

“lam mentioned, too, as betrothed to your daughter. 

I do not know who has authorised this impertinence. 
How can you expect a man in my position to marry a 
girl thus advertised ! ” 

“Is that so? You are not perhaps aware,” shrieked 
Constantine, “that my niece has emphatically refused 
to marry you. She hates you. 

O’idas smiled sarcastically. That was chaff unlikely 
to catch him. Pericles shook himself with a supreme 
effort out of his state of sickly stupefaction. 

“ Kyrie O'idas, it is as my brother says,” he managed 
to utter, in a vague, chill tone. “My daughter has to-day 
communicated to me her unconquerable repugnance to 
the alliance you did US the honour to propose. You 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


294 

will now do us the still greater honour of relieving us 
of your presence.” 

OTdas strutted out of the room with lips drawn into 
an incredulous grin, and when the door slammed behind 
him, Pericles stretched out his hands helplessly. His 
face was white and his lips blue. Inarime rushed to 
him. 

“ My father ! ” she murmured, softly. “Uncle, help 
me.” 

Pericles had fallen back in a dead faint. 

0‘idas went about the town, distracted, and resolved 
to spread his evil tale. He did not want for willing ears 
and believers. Many discredited his story, and reverted 
to his former unconcealed anxiety to get the girl, and 
her evident holding back. In the next day’s papers a 
formal announcement appeared stating the Mayor of 
Athens wished it to be known that he entertained no 
intention of marrying the desposyne Inarime Selaka, 
and had officially rescinded his proposals. 

Vague references further appeared to a T urkish lover, a 
mysterious Bey, roving incognito over Greece — learned, 
fascinating and romantic. This paragraph and the 
short letter of O'fdas fell under the amazed eyes of Gustav 
Reineke, while he sat at breakfast in his hotel. His face 
flamed furious. Giddy emotions momentarily held him 
prostrate and insane. Then he rose, clenched his teeth, 
furnished himself with a heavy riding-whip, and sallied 
forth towards the newspaper office. He met the editor 
in the hall, unprotected and unsuspecting. With a growl 
of Homeric satisfaction, he. pounced on that unhappy 
man, and, passion lending him strength, suitably reduced 
him to a pulp. Inspirited by this diversion, he sought 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


295 


the mayor, was courteously admitted, not being known 
to be on an avenging mission ; he then proceeded, with- 
out preliminary, to do the work of an infuriated hero 
upon the rickety body of that civic luminary. O Idas’ 
howls were fearful to hear, but the door was locked, and 
only opened to emit in a flash the lithe frame of Gustav, 
— his face blanched, his eyes blazing, and his lips 
triumphant. 


296 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN, \ 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HOW ATHENS TOOK THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PERFIDIOUS 
RUDOLPH. - 

Rudolph’s disappearance with Photini created rather 
more than a nine days’ wonder at Athens. This is one 
of the privileges of living in a small and talkative town 
where private affairs spread like fire, and scandal is an 
excitement only second to that of the election of the 
mayor. But it must be confessed that this was a big 
scandal, and worth all the ejaculations, comments, and 
emphatic censure it provoked. The baron shrugged 
his shoulders and smiled : it may be allowed he was 
not prepared for this sweeping descent on the part of 
the innocent Rudolph. But, as he remarked to his 
wife : 

“ It’s always your well brought up and virtuous youths 
who take the rapidest strides to the deuce ! I told 
Ottilie, years ago, that she was bringing up that boy to 
be a very dainty morsel for any adventuress that might 
happen to catch him.” 

“Well, my dear, we must admit,” said' the baroness, 
“ that the Natzelhuber did not put herself to any con- 
siderable trouble to catch Rudolph. I’ve not the slight- 
est doubt that the boy was only longing to be caught, 
and not wishing to escape it.” 

“That is ever the way,” remarked her amiable hus- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


297 


band, “with our inconsistent sex. Our normal con- 
dition is longing or grumbling. Either we are crying 
out against the adventuresses who wish to catch us, or 
we are railing against those who won’t ; and when we 
are caught, we are still crying out that we are caught. 
The child, you perceive, is father to the man. Watch 
an infant with his pets : he fondles and maltreats the 
confiding kitten that rubs itself against him, and deserts 
it to run after the butterfly. The butterfly won’t be 
caught and he howls dismally, if he doesn’t go into a 
fit, and proceeds to strangle the tabby. Thus it has 
been with your engaging nephew. Mademoiselle An- 
dromache represents the confiding kitten, deserted for 
Selaka’s daughter, the unattainable butterfly, and Photini 
stands for the domestic tabby. Only the tabby in 
question possesses very formidable claws, which she is 
too likely to use upon the slightest or even upon no 
provocation from the faithless Rudolph. He will then 
return to us a sadder and a wiser man. Perhaps when 
that time comes, it will not be so very difficult for us, 
with the aid of Mademoiselle Veritassi, should that de- 
lightful young lady be still free, to anchor him in the 
placid waters of matrimony.” 

“As for Mademoiselle Veritassi,” said the baroness, 
“it is always the girls who come off the worst in these 
matters. They stand there ready victims for the worn 
and jaded rakes who have sown their wild oats. That 
wild-oat period is an abomination, Baron, and the 
theory has done more to injure young men than any- 
thing else.” 

“Madame, I am not responsible for the errors of 
civilisation. The period which you so aptly describe 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


298 

as the wild-oat period, is doubtless a sad one to con- 
template for those like you and me, who have passed to 
the other side, where it is to be hoped there are no wild 
oats to be sown. But I am not so sure of that. How- 
ever, I have not the slightest doubt, should Rudolph 
settle down with Mademoiselle Veritassi, that he will 
make her as good a husband as any other. Certainly 
she will find him very pliant and easy to manage. He 
is wealthy, too, and I suppose a young woman cannot 
ask anything better than a husband she can easily 
manage, and a purse she can draw heavily upon,” said 
the baron, and continued to smoke his morning cigar 
without any unwonted discomposure. 

The baroness went on her round of visits in a sad- 
dened spirit, thinking of that young life wrecked on its 
threshold, and feeling that her sister Ottilie, watching 
from above, might perhaps consider that she in some 
manner or another, was responsible for the boys fall. 
She was a good woman in her way, though a worldly 
one. Whatever might be her opinion of the morals of 
the young men with whom she associated, she would 
gladly have shielded poor Rudolph from any such 
acquaintance with life as theirs. Having no child of 
her own, she loved the boy with a tender and maternal 
love. 

“It is very dreadful,” she said at dinner to her hus- 
band. 

“ My dear, let us be thankful that it is not worse, — it 
might have been,” said the cheerful philosopher. 

“Worse ! ” interrogated the baroness. 

“ He might have married her.” 

This appalling suggestion silenced the baroness. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


299 

Some days later, a letter came from Rudolph from 
Cape Juan. Already there was a breath of cynicism in 
it, startling to those who had known him in his not far 
distant period of girlish and fastidious shrinking. The 
baron read it attentively, and then said : 

“It seems to me, my dear, your Arcadian nephew is 
going to the devil as fast as brandy and Photini will 
help him.” 

And that was all he said, adding that probably in a 
year, at the most, Rudolph would reappear in their 
midst, hardened, cynical, and worldly wise. 

The outrage inflicted on Athens in the respected person 
of her chief citizen still lifted the voice of uproarious 
censure, and the Turkish Embassy had to interfere on 
behalf of Daoud Bey, who made good his escape. 

In the meantime, how has it been faring with the 
victim, Andromache? In the first flush of separation, 
Rudolph was as regular a correspondent as the postal 
arrangements of the Peloponnesus allowed. His letters 
breathed artless affection and most gratifying regrets. 
They described everything he saw at considerable 
length, and Andromache read them as young ladies 
will read their first love letters, answered them as can- 
didly, making proper allowance for maidenly reticence ; 
and then devoted herself, with much ardour, to discuss- 
ing Rudolph with her mother and Julia. All the while 
the trousseau was progressing rapidly. What dresses 
to be tried on ! what quantities of linen to be embroidered 
what choice of lace ! There was confusion in the little 
house overlooking the French school, and Themistocles 
found it more necessary than ever to seek the quiet and 
seclusion of his own chamber, and there to meditate 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


300 

upon the young lady in the next street and play endless 
and torturing variations of Schubert’s Serenade. And 
O what a glorious time it was for Miltiades ! how he 
boasted of his sister’s brilliant future at the mess-table, 
and walked the town, or rode on his coal-black charger, 
with his friend Hadji Adam, the light of excitement in 
his eye strong enough to dazzle the rash beholder ! 
Alas! that these simple joys should be dashed to the 
ground in disappointment and humiliation ! Letters 
came more rarely upon the second separation, and 
their tone was more curt and less confiding. There 
was even a strain of self-reproach in them which An- 
dromache was too unsuspecting to construe. But these 
signs of storm passed unnoticed by Miltiades. The 
letter fever, we know, soon declines with young men 
absent from their lady-loves, and as the months passed 
the fever gradually abated, and Rudolph, the faithless, 
lapsed into silence. 

Still the trousseau progressed, and still the marriage 
preparations went forward. One day Miltiades in his 
barracks was informed that Rudolph had returned to 
Athens ; — he dropped his knife and fork in astonish- 
ment. How came it that he was not aware of this ? 
and how came it that Rudolph had not yet made his 
appearance in the little salon, where the Turkish bomb 
that had exploded at the feet of Miltiades was proudly 
displayed ? Miltiades sat at home all the day, and 
waited for Ehrenstein. He was wise enough not to 
mention this fact to Andromache or to his mother. 
Perhaps there would be a very simple explanation 
forthcoming, and why inflict needless pain upon the 
women ? Days went by, however, and still no Ehren- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


301 

Stein. By the soul of Hercules, how can a fellow be 
expected to stand this kind of treatment ? The slaugh- 
terer of five thousand Turks sit calmly by, while his 
sister is being jilted in the most outrageous manner ! 
Certainly not. 

Miltiades strode the streets of Athens with a more 
warlike aspect than ever. The very frown of his brows 
was a challenge, and the glance of his eyes was a dag- 
ger : the crimson plumes of his service cap nodded 
valorously, his sword and spurs clanked. He twirled 
his moustache until all the little boys and foot passen- 
gers made way for him apprehensively. Still no 
Ehrenstein appeared. Then came the climax. It was 
an awful moment when the news exploded, — more fatal 
far than the Turkish bomb on the table, — that Rudolph 
had disappeared with Photini Natzelhuber. We will 
draw the veil of discretion upon the picture of a modern 
Theseus lashed into impotent fury, and striding through 
the prostrate forms of his womenfolk in hysterics. 

With a Jove-like front Miltiades faced the Austrian 
Embassy, and held stern council with the Baron von 
Hohenfels. Of course there was nothing to be done. 
It was clearly impossible to offer money to a warrior 
and a hero. Such a thing as breaches of promise are 
here unknown, and it was equally impossible to collar 
Rudolph and bring him back to his deserted bride. 
The baron was conciliatory and courteous, as was his 
wont ; expressed the flattering opinion that Mademoi- 
selle Andromache was far too good for a reprobate like 
his nephew ; hoped Miltiades would allow the baroness 
the honour of calling upon his mother, Kyria Karapo- 
los, and her family; and placed himself, his house, and 


302 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


everything belonging to him at the disposal of the 
affronted captain.. The interview terminated amicably 
— how could it be otherwise with the most diplomatic 
of ambassadors ? — Miltiades returned to the bosom of 
his family, and held a parliament to debate upon pro- 
ceedings. 

Andromache bore her sorrow better than might 
have been imagined. She necessarily did a little in 
the way of hysterics, but soon settled down in 
dreary acquiescence, and spent her days embroidering 
and practising the piano. The practice of scales may 
be recommended to jilted young ladies. It soothes the 
nerves, dulls the imagination, and produces a useful 
kind of indifference. Young men in similar circum- 
stances prefer, I believe, wine, or cards, or politics, — 
or worse. 

This was the hour in which Maria shone. Very 
faithfully and lovingly did she tend her young forsaken 
mistress, hovered over her yearningly, invented deli- 
cacies by means of rice, jam, macaroni and tapioca, to 
tempt the appetite of the most hardened sufferer, sat by 
her for hours, silently stroking her hair and fondling 
her hands, and unveiled exquisite depths of tenderness 
and consideration. Greek servants and Irish servants 
are the kindest, most affectionate and most absolutely 
disinterested in the world. 

But there was a curious hardness about Andromache’s 
young mouth : a permanent glitter in her dark blue 
eyes, that bespoke a cherished design. Of that design 
she spoke to nobody, but went through the day pretty 
much as usual, and was grateful to those who remained 
silent upon her shame. The Baroness von Hohenfels 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


303 

called, was most pathetic, effusive, and strewed her 
path with good-will. She called again, this time with 
Agiropoulos, who stared at -Andromache through his 
eyeglass, wore an expensive orchid in his coat, and 
conducted himself with his usual fascinating audacity. 

“ Faith !” he said to the baroness. “I should not 
object to console the little Karapolos myself. ” 

“That is an idea,” said the Baroness. “I’ll marry 
you, and then I shall have Rudolph’s perfidy off my 
mind.” 

“Well, now that Photini has deserted me for your 
charming nephew, it will be teaching Rudolph a nice 
lesson in military tactics,-— to besiege his deserted 
town, and carry it by storm, — eh, madame?” 

The Baroness was quite serious in her design. A 
little Athenian might be an impossible match for a 
young Austrian aristocrat, with the blood of the Crusa- 
ders, the Hapsburgs, and heaven knows of what other 
deeply azure sources, running through his veins; — but 
a common Greek merchant from Trieste, now, an ami- 
able enough person in florid attire, but not of her 
world, though gracefully patronised by her! It would 
be a very proper match, and one which she was 
resolved to further. The girl was pretty — extremely 
pretty and young. She wanted polish, and a few 
months of Agiropoulos’ irresistible society would be 
sure to accomplish much in that way. 

“Decidedly, M. Agiropoulos, I am determined to 
marry you. You must range yourself. You are now, 

I suppose, just thirty ? ” 

“Oh, madame, grace I beseech you! Twenty-six. 
But you see the disastrous results of follies and the 


304 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


harassing cares your cruel sex imposes on sensitive 
young men/’ said Agiropoulos, with his fatuous smile. 

“Then it is of greater necessity that you should settle 
down at once, and devote yourself to the whims of a 
wife. ” 

“I am only eager for the day. I have been well 
disposed towards Mademoiselle Veritassi, but she, capri- 
cious angel, will not have me.” 

The baroness felt inclined to box the fellow’s ear, but 
only smiled. 

A few days later this airy individual left a basket of 
flowers for the desposyne Andromache Karapolos. 


DAUGHTERS OT MEN. 


305 


BOOK IV. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 
inarime’s vigil. 

The journey back to Tenos was a mournful one. 
Selaka, in a mixture of dread and compunction, 
shunned his daughter’s glance. There might be a 
question of the amount of blame due to him for the 
trouble in which they were mutually involved, but the 
physical weakness consequent upon his sharp attack 
left him a prey to exaggerated feelings. That his 
daughter, his treasure, whom he had believed few men 
worthy to possess, should have been publicly insulted 
by a wretch like OTdas to avenge an ignoble vanity 
which conceived itself affronted — that so horrible a 
stroke should have been dealt him by fate, and the 
heavens remained unmoved and the blood of life still 
flow in his veins, vision not have been struck from 
his appalled eyes ! Pride lay dead at a stroke, and the 
unhappy man felt that he could never again lift a front 
of dignity to the light of day. 

Of her own wound Inarime thought nothing. To 
have got rid of the offensive O’fdas was a gain, even if 
it cost her an insult. Her father’s illness was her only 

20 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


3°6 

care. Dr. Galenides ordered rest and mountain air. 
Books, he opined, and cheerful shepherd surroundings 
would more than do the work of physic. The simple 
sights of nature and her restoring silence would relieve 
the shocked system, and the late catastrophe should be 
ignored. 

Constantine travelled with them, moody and petu- 
lant by force of unexhausted vengeance. He paced the 
deck, muttering and 'smoking, smoking and muttering, 
forgetful of the clamours of the unassuaged appetite, 
and consigned the courteous steward to the devil when 
importuned to go down to dinner. Dinner indeed ! 
while that fellow lived who had stolen his friend Stav- 
ros from him, beaten him in his election, and outraged 
his family. His days were passed in an open-eyed 
bloody-minded dream, and he gloated over the picture 
of the thrashed mayor, with his features reduced to a 
purple jelly, and his sneaking frame doubled up with 
pain. He could have kissed Reineke’s hand in grati- 
tude. Horse-whipping was not in his line, but he 
understood, when administered by proxy, what a very 
excellent thing it was. To himself he plotted how 
when peace should have descended on the insulted and 
angry household, he would manoeuvre to reward 
Reineke. 

“He’ll marry her, he will, or my name’s not Con- 
stantine Selaka,” he reiterated to himself,' and took the 
wide expanse of sky and sea to witness that it was a 
solemn oath. 

At Syra they were late for the bi-weekly boat, but 
Pericles would hear of no delay, so they chartered a 
caique and shot across the placid blue, as the trail of 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


307 


sunset glory faded out of the deepening sky and Tenos 
showed below a solitary patch of green cloud. As 
they neared the little pier, the swift, short twilight had 
touched the valleys and lent mystery to the bare sweeps 
of hillside. A palm stood out upon the sky and ap- 
pealed to Inarime’s sad eyes in the language of intense 
familiarity. She remembered to have noticed that one 
tree on her first childish voyage to Syra and, on com- 
ing back, to have claimed it with eager, friendly gaze. 
It seemed now that eagerness might henceforth hold 
no part in her experiences, and she felt like one who 
was staring back with sorrowful visage upon serene 
unnumbered years. The tears came rapidly as she 
noted each feature of the dear familiar picture, the 
backgrouftd of her young life, and with them the magic 
thought that Gustav, too, had gazed lingeringly, ten- 
derly upon it, thrilled her ineffably. She tried to 
imagine his impressions, and examined it keenly to 
discover how it might strike upon strange vision. 

This is a craving of girls — to know how their lovers 
look upon things both have seen ; to get inside their 
sight and count their very heart-beats. Women grow 
less exacting and imaginative, I believe, and have 
more practical demands upon love. 

Aristides met them with mules and voluble utter- 
ances. 

“Where is Paleocapa ?” Pericles demanded, remem- 
bering to cast a searching glance about for the ruffian 
steward. 

“ He went up to meet some fellows in Virgin Street. 
I’ve no doubt they are in the Oraia Hellas,” answered 
Aristides. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


308 

“Besotting himself with his abominable raki — the 
brute ! — Annunziata is well?” Selaka queried, sharply. 

“ Did you ever know her ill ? Kyria Helena is up at 
Xinara. Nothing has happened since you left except 
the occasional backslidings of Paleocapa, who at times 
cannot be kept from his raki and was no less than 
thrice dead drunk. Oh, yes, Demetrius’ wife is dead, 
and Michael the carpenter is going to be married to 
make up for the deficiency,” Aristides chirped on, as 
heedless as a blackbird. 

“Will you give us peace, you chattering fool,” 
thundered Pericles with an outburst of wholesome 
rage. 

The sharp perfumes of the thyme and pines were 
wafted on the cool breezes of an April evening, as the 
little cortege of mules, guided by Aristides, wound 
slowly up the marble-stepped and rocky way, and 
Inarime drew in the air with quivering nostrils and 
parted lips. It was the air of home she breathed, fresh, 
untainted, smelling of upper hills and far off-seas, not 
that of a dusty city cheapened by the presence of all- 
pervading man. Thankfully she acknowledged the 
quiet of the land, the view unbroken by moving object. 
Here, at least, might one live unshamed, if even the 
heart were cut in twain. Upon the projecting point of 
the Castro, hung one first pale star, steadfast and patient 
like the light of a soul. Thus patiently and stead- 
fastly should the star of love shine for her, its flame 
softly and uncomplainingly cherished by her. She 
would not again quit the shelter of her own grey Castro 
that looked so desolately upon these valleys, like the 
ghost of other centuries lured to the scene of its departed 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


309 

splendours. Her spirit sprang towards it with a throb of 
solemn joy. Dear sight ! she could have clung to its 
burnt flanks and wept among its thymy crevices. 

Night was flying over the heavens as they rounded 
the little path under it that leads into Xinara. The 
wind blew chill and balmy, and chased skurrying 
clouds across the peeping stars, like shadows flailed by 
the invisible powers to dim their mild radiance. Ina- 
rime shivered a little, and turned anxiously to her 
father. 

“Pull up your coat-collar, father,” she entreated. 

Demetrius and Johannis were smoking at the shop 
door when the expected procession passed through the 
village street. Michael was sitting in his betrothed 
one’s kitchen, staring at her silently, and profusely 
expectorating, which was his way of courting. All the 
villagers that dwelt on high, leant over their rickety 
wooden balconies, sniffing the evening air and talking 
in a subdued tone, and those below lounged against 
door-jambs, or over garden walls. 

‘ ‘ Kay' idwtpa, ” waved upon many voices to Pericles 
and Inarime, and more royal “ZifaV’to the King of 
Tenos. 

“ Zifa-w 6 pcurytvs pvs Trjvov, ” Demetrius sang out, cheer- 
fully, and every head uncovered, hats were frantically 
waved by the men, handkerchiefs by the women. One 
foolish fellow high up, ran into the house for his pistol 
and luxuriously fired off a couple of shots by way of 
salute. 

“Confound the idiots ! ” muttered Constantine, shud- 
dering in his terror of the explosion. He hated the 
sound or the idea of the weapon, and his abortive duel 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


31° 

with Stavros had not tended to lessen his instinctive 
abhorrence. 

“No more of that, my good fellows,” he roared, 
commandingly. “ Any expression of your kind regard 
flatters me, but my brother has had an illness, and is 
very much shaken. The ride from the town has proved 
rather more than his strength is capable of, and your 
noisy enthusiasm would quite prostrate him. Many 
thanks and good-night.” 

“ Zdrpu !” again shook the silence of night as they 
rode through the village. 

“The Virgin be praised! We have back our own 
dear young lady,” Katinka shrieked, kissing her fingers 
vigorously. 

Inarime waved her hand in gracious recognition, and 
the proud, cherishing eyes of her adorers watched her 
slim figure, and the homely shape of her charger until 
the twilight mist swallowed them out of their sight. 
Annunziata and Kyria Helene stood at the little postern 
gate to welcome them. The tender brightness of their 
glances and the warmth of their cheering smiles struck 
the home-sick girl with the force of a buffet. She 
stumbled choking into Annunziata’s, arms, and hung 
limp about her. 

“Annunziata, Annunziata,” she cried like a child. 

“ My own girl ! It is heaven to have you back. 
‘When will she come?’ the villagers ask me every 
day, and shake their heads mournfully at the continued 
eclipse. Dear sir ! ” she added, as she caught the hands 
of Pericles, and held them fondly. 

Pericles pressed her brown fingers, then kissed the 
cheeks of his sister and pleaded for immediate rest. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


3 


“It’s what we all need — supper and bed,” Constan- 
tine growled, turning to abuse Aristides for delay. 

Oh, the poignant appeal to the senses of the dusky, 
sweet-smelling courtyard, rich with its departing spring 
blooms ! It swept Inarime like the breath of child- 
hood and filled her with fervent gratitude. To go away 
for the first time and come back ! A month may hold 
the meaning of a cycle and awaken in the young heart 
all the fancies, the miseries and joys of the wanderer. 
Astonishment thrilled her that this place should greet 
her with its aspect of awful changelessness, and yet, if 
a stone, a flower, a chair were changed, it would have 
left her dumb with aching regret. 

Annunziata’s arm was round her, and she put up a 
timid hand to feel the Turkish kerchief, the plait of false 
hair outside, and lovingly touched the wrinkled cheek. 

“ It is so good to be back with you,” she whispered. 

“My treasure ! my dearest child ! I have been with 
you since you were a baby, and the sun did not shine 
forme while you were away,” the old woman mur- 
mured, and her tearful eyes pierced the baffling glimmer 
of early moonlight like glittering stars. 

The little white salon was cozy and inviting by 
lamplight, and beyond it, in the inner room, the table 
was laid for supper. Constantine, dead with fatigue, 
hunger and shaken bones, pounced on it like a fam- 
ished ogre, but a little soup and wine sufficed Inarime 
and Pericles. 

“Brother, you look thin and worn,” Helene ex- 
claimed, eyeing him doubtfully. 

“Has he not been ill?” screamed Constantine, be’ 
tween the noisy gulps of his soup. 


312 


DA UGHTEKS OF MEN. 


“I am well enough, sister, but very weary,” said 
Pericles, rising from the table. “ Inarime, I would 
speak a word with you before I sleep.” 

She followed him to his room, and when he fell into a 
chair, she crouched on her knees beside him. 

“My child, I have been humbled through you,” he 
began, musingly, while his fingers gently stroked her 
hair. “Your instinct against my reason! And in- 
stinct conquers, reason is beaten, and grievously 
rebuked. I meant it for the best, my Inarime. But 
now I yield to your wishes. It would have been well 
for me to have taken counsel with them from the first. 
But this is ground upon which, perhaps, the old may 
always learn from the young without disgrace.” 

His speech faltered and died away in supreme weari- 
ness. Inarime held her breath. Could this mean the 
recall of Gustav ? And yet the hope seemed so wild 
that she dared not give it a transient shelter lest the 
reaction should utterly overwhelm her. 

“To-morrow, father dear,” she urged, kissing his 
hand. “You are so tired now.” 

“I have not much to say, and I hasten to have it 
over that I may not be obliged to revive the painful 
subject. I will not seek again to oppose your natural 
desire to remain unwedded, since you cannot hope to 
wed where your heart is.” 

Tears of disappointment sprang to her eyes. She 
moved away from him in silence, and then glancing 
over her shoulder, saw the droop of illness in his frame, 
and his arms hanging languidly beside him. She was 
smitten with remorse, and went back to him. 

“ Thank you, father,” she said, softly. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN . 


313 

“Kiss me, my girl, and leave me,” he just breathed. 

She stooped over him and kissed him tenderly. All 
her reverent love returned on a swell, and it seemed a 
small thing to give up her lover to stay with her father 
always. The untroubled harmony of their relations 
dwelt with her again. 

She went to her room, and opened the window to 
look out upon the peaceful night scene. Her terrace 
ran round the house, and commanded a view of the 
plain rolling to the distant sea and the girdling hills and 
wide dim valleys. The moon was high under a white 
veil of milky way. The bright metallic stars made a 
counter-radiance to her silver light, and every leaf and 
rugged contour was sharply visible in the mystic illu- 
mination. An oppressive silence lay upon the moun- 
tains, -heavy stillness enveloped the valleys ; the leaves 
dropped silver, and the flow of the torrents and the tiny 
quivering rills ran chill upon the nerves. The spirit of 
water and moonlight pervaded the scene, running 
through it with innumerable thin faint echoes. Every 
nook and crevice lay revealed, and the shadows were de- 
fined with harsh distinctness, the distances losing them- 
selves in their own dark verges. Through the dusk, 
yellow lights from the farm casements were sprinkled 
here and there, and villages showed through their gar- 
dens and orchards as black masses upon the barren 
highlands. 

Her heart was empty from excessive feeling as she 
looked across the land. Oh, for courage and freedom 
to wander forth and touch with feet and hands each 
well-remembered spot ! A bat flitting through the air 
brushed her cheek, and she looked up to follow its 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


3M 

black passage. She sat and watched everything, her 
energies expended in the delight of recognition. The 
waves of white cloud stealing across the heavens, and 
the moon imperceptibly beginning to dip, warned her 
that time was running apace, and a fluttering movement 
in the trees underneath told of birds softly stirring in 
their warm nests. The thought of their warmth made 
her aware that her teeth were chattering and her limbs 
were rigid with cold. 

Still she sat through the night, and watched the day 
ushered in upon violet light, that soon glowed like fire. 
Crimson wings sped over the sky with quivering prom- 
ise. At their touch the stars seemed to tremble, grew 
pale and were extinguished one by one. The little birds 
exulted in their nests and essayed a note or two. Day- 
light broke upon the earth from the fires of the East. 
Warmth travelled down the abysses of air, and in its 
first caress the night-dews shone like jewels on the 
leaves and flowers. The rapture of the birds grew into 
a spray of delirious song ; it dashed upwards with the 
ring of silver mellowing to gold as it caught melody. 
The moon gazed pallid regret upon the scene and melted 
away in sickly stealth, as the voices of the morning 
awoke with the shrill crow of the cocks. Every folded 
leaf was now unclosed, and upon the skirts of the flying 
dawn the sun rose and spread his tyrannous light over 
hills and valleys. The world breathed in day, the 
dewdrops were beginning to melt, and the song of the 
birds was insufferably sweet to the ears. 

Her hands were clammy and her frame was stiff 
when Inarime rose and entered her room. Never more 
would she be asked to leave this place. The hand 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN . 


315 


beggared of the touch of Gustav’s, she was now free 
to keep unclaimed by any other man.. Even that small 
boon was something to be thankful for, and she blessed 
her father before flinging herself down to snatch an 
hour of oblivion and rest for her tired young limbs. 
In a few hours the kindly villagers would flock to 
welcome her in person, and the dispensing of custom- 
ary hospitalities would leave no time for poignant 
thoughts. 


316 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN , . 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

SHOWING A LADY KNIGHT-ERRANT TO THE RESCUE OP UNHAPPY 
LOVERS. 

Spring waned in the extinguishing heat of summer. 
The noonday blue of the heavens was lost in a warm 
grey mist. All the green was burnt off the face of the 
earth, and the eyes turned in pain from the burning 
hills and shadowless plain, from the awful glimmer of 
marble upon the Acropolis and the hot streets below. 
Shade, shade, darkened chambers and cool drinks, and 
the sweet siesta, curtained off from the sting of the mos- 
quito, were all that nature called for. 

The Baron and Baroness von Hohenfels had left Athens 
for the repose of an Austrian country house. They 
knew that Rudolph and Photini were wandering about 
the south of France with an inconvenient train of live 
pets, a grand piano, a violin, and discontented hearts. 
More than this they did not care to know, and patiently 
awaited the hour of reform, when the wild oats period 
should have exhausted itself, and the prodigal return 
to the comfort of more discreet irregularities, hardened, 
cynical and very well disposed to settle down in mar- 
riage. 

The Karapolos were looking forward with much satis- 
faction to the next September move, and this time were 
in treaty with the owners of a flat in Solon Street. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN . 


3 l 7 

Miltiades was away in Thessaly with his regiment, and 
was not expected back until October. Andromache 
went about the same as ever, and no one knew whether 
the wounds of her heart were permanent or not. But 
Agiropoulos was attentive, though far from communi- 
cative in the proper way, and Kyria Karapolos, in her 
state missives to the absent hero, thought it not im- 
probable that Andromache might be induced to accept 
him. 

Little Themistocles was less on parade in Stadion 
Street because of the exactions of the weather, but of 
an evening he cheerfully tortured his violin, and un- 
bosomed himself to his fellow-clerks in the Corinthian 
bank. Things here as elsewhere went on very much 
as usual. The town was rapidly thinning, and lodgings 
and hotels at Kephissia, Phalerum, Munychia and the 
Piraeus as rapidly filling. 

Gustav Reineke had been voyaging in Asia Minor 
with a party of English archaeologists bound upon an 
excavating expedition. Upon his return to Athens, he 
found his old friend and admirer, Miss Winters, the 
delightful little American, with her lovely snow-white 
hair and a complexion as fresh as a girl’s. Gustav was 
charmed, and so was Miss Winters. They struck at 
once into fraternity. He accompanied her everywhere, 
carried her photographic apparatus, adjusted it, and as 
soon as she disappeared under the cloth, applied him- 
self to read aloud the classics to her. She took full 
command of him, ordered and piloted him in an im- 
pulse of protecting and authoritative motherhood that 
soothed him unspeakably. He obeyed her with pleas- 
ure, and in return imparted to her the story of his love. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


“And has the young lady no idea where you are? 
she asked, struggling frantically with her machine on 
the Acropolis. 

“None. I cannot write to her,” said Reineke, de- 
jectedly. 

“What nonsense! You love her; she loves you. 
You have no right to lose sight of each other. Have 
you never tried to write ? ” 

“ No. I felt the right to do so was not conceded me. " 

“Nonsense ! it is no question of right or wrong ; it is 
simply natural. Well, I see I cannot settle this to-day, 
so I had better go home and put my other views in 
order. Did you say the old man, Selaka, lives in the 
village of Xinara? ” 

“Xinara, Tenos,” nodded Gustav. 

“I see. Well, carry this home for me, then go and 
stay quietly in your hotel, — I may have something to 
tell you in a few days.” 

He carried his burden to her rooms, which faced the 
columns of Jupiter, gallantly kissed her tiny hand, and 
turned with a soft smile in his eyes as he walked to the 
Hotel de la Grande Bretagne. 

“I will certainly make a journey to America to see 
that charming little lady,” he said to himself, and while 
he sat in his room waiting for the short blue twilight, 
he took out of his breast pocket the only remem- 
brance of Inarime he possessed — the unfinished verses 
he had found some months ago at the Austrian Em- 
bassy. 

Everything on the Acropolis had been photographed 
from every possible point of view, and nearly every- 
thing in the museums, and on the day they had arranged 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


319 

to start for Sunium, Miss Winters met Reineke with a 
portentous air. 

“ Mr. Reineke, I have heard from that old man, and, 
indeed, he is not worth much. He is just an old 
heathen.” 

Gustav laughed, touched by the irresistible humour 
of hearing Miss Winters, herself more than half a pagan, 
abuse any one on the ground of heathenism. 

“ What are you laughing at, sir ? ” she asked, frowning. 

“Oh, I was not quite prepared to hear you turn upon 
the heathens, I thought you were in such thorough 
sympathy with them.” 

“ With the ancient heathens, if you please,” corrected 
Miss Winters. “That is very different from modern 
heathenism. The ancients were respectable, upright 
and religious men, fearing the gods and respecting the 
laws of nature. But your Selaka ! He has all the vices 
of the Christian, without any of the virtues of the pagan. ” 

“Selaka ! What of him ? ” cried Gustav, opening his 
eyes. 

“Did I not tell you ? I have heard from him.” 

“ Heard from Selaka ? How ? When ? ” 

“Through the post — how else ? I wrote to him.” 

Reineke sat dumfounded and stared at her. He 
believed the courage of woman in managing the affairs 
of stricken man went far ; but this utterly surpassed the 
limitations he allowed it. 

“ You wrote to him,” he murmured. 

“Certainly, it was high time some sane person under- 
took the task of reasoning with him, and convincing 
him of his folly.” 

“And might I ask how you applied yourself to this 


320 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


task ? upon what grounds you based your argu- 
ments ? ” 

4 ‘ Well, I told him you are no more a Turk than I am. ” 

Custav exploded hilariously. 

“Why, you know you are not. You are just as Greek 
as you can very well be, — far more so than he is, you 
bet/ 

“ Well ? " 

“ He did not see it ; — of course not, the old lunatic.” 

“ May 1 be permitted to look at the letter, Miss Win- 
ters?" 

“ There it is. It is a very instructive letter in its way, 
written in far better German than mine.” 

Gustav took the letter, and studied it leisurely. It 
was dignified and courteous, spoke in high terms of 
himself as a man of honour and learning to whom he 
should, in other circumstances, have been proud to 
entrust his daughter’s happiness. But its tone was 
unmistakable, its decision unalterable. Gustav sighed 
heavily as he returned it to Miss Winters. 

“ He's a fanatic — that’s just what he is,” she cried. 

“And the worst of it is, Miss Winters, one is forced 
to admire such consistent and adamantine fanaticism, 
though its bigotry be the bar to one’s own happiness.” 

“ Why, of course, that’s the worst of it. If there were 
not such an element of nobility in it I should not want 
to shake him so much. It is always a satisfaction to 
be able to call the person who opposes or frustrates 
your purpose a scoundrel or a brute — but not to be able 
to call him anything harder than a pig-headed old pagan, 
and to have to smile admiration through one’s rage of 
disappointment, puts a point upon one’s anger. Well, 


DAUGHTERS OF MEAT. 


3 21 

never mind, Mr. Reineke. I’ll thwart him yet. I'll 
write to the girl next.” 

Gustav gasped and doubtless thought — as the French 
critic thought of Moses — “ cette femme est capable de 
tout.” 

They went together to Sunium, and photographed 
everything in the neighbourhood, ruins, peasants in 
fustanella and embroidered jackets, women in embroid- 
ered tunics and headgear of coins and muslin, and then 
went to Corinth and accomplished similar wonders 
there. 

“ I quite feel as if I had a son,” said Miss Winters, 
patting Gustav’s hand affectionately. 

“ What a pretty and youthful mother I have found,” 
laughed Reineke. 

Miss Winters delayed in Corinth to write a chapter of 
her book on Greece, and Gustav lounged about with the 
piratical tendencies of an archaeologist. When they 
reached Athens, borne down by the weight of manu- 
scripts, vases and photographs, Miss Winters found a 
notification from the Corinth post-office that a letter was 
waiting for her “ au bourreau d’ Athenes.” 

“ Good heavens, Mr. Reineke, can I in som'e inex- 
plicable way have brought myself under the penalties 
of the law ? Is it forbidden, under pain of death, to 
photograph ruins and views of Greece ? What connec- 
tion can I possibly have with the executioner of 
Athens ? ” 

Gustav laughed and suggested “bureau,” and went 
off himself to the post-office, where, indeed, he found a 
letter addressed to Miss Winters in the beautiful calli- 
graphy he so v r ell knew. Then she had written to In- 

21 


3 22 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


arime, and he held the answer in his hand ! He looked 
at it lovingly, reverentially, and just within the arches 
of the post-office, glancing hastily around to ascertain 
that he was not observed, he raised the envelope to his 
lips. He gave it to Miss Winters without a word, and 
went away. That evening Miss Winters came to him at 
his hotel, silently put the letter into his hand, and closed 
the door of his room as she went out softly, as one 
closes the door of a sick chamber. 

Gustav sat watching the letter timidly, afraid to learn 
its contents, and the desire of it burned his cheek and 
quickened his pulse like fever. How would the silence 
of months be broken ? Would her message realise his 
high expectations ? Would the world be less empty for 
him because of it ? Would this fierce ache of the heart 
drop into a contented memory ? He felt her arms 
about his neck, her lips upon his, her glance pierced 
his own through to his inmost soul, held her in his 
clasp, and lived again their short impassioned hour. 
How bright the rain-drops had looked upon the winter 
grasses and curled leaves, how clear the song of the 
birds in the moist air ! The moments fled with the 
hurry of rapture, his beating pulses timed to their 
measureless speed. 

Still Inarime’s letter lay unopened in his hand. 

He saw her in the courtyard at Xinara remonstrating 
with the sobbing woman crouched at her feet ; felt his 
gaze compel hers and drew in his breath with a catch of 
pain at the memory of the sweet surprised surrender of 
her eyes,— followed slowly, obediently, her vanishing 
form with that last long look of hers to feed his hungry 
goul. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEM 


3*3 


And still the letter was unread. 

He sat trifling with his happiness and his misery, 
scarcely daring to open it, shaken with the apprehen- 
sions of yearning, hardly strong enough to lash 
himself to courage by the past — enervated, sick with 
expectation, chill with fright. Slowly he took the sheet 
out of the envelope, and bent his eyes upon it, not no- 
ticing that a thinner sheet had fallen to the ground. 

Thus it ran : 

“ Madame, — 

“I am abashed before the thought of my deep indebt- 
edness to you, and the knowledge that it will never be 
my good fortune to repay you. More to me than your 
kind words is the comfort of knowing that, separated 
from him you write of as I am, by a fatality I have 
neither voice nor influence to avert, your presence makes 
amends to him for my enforced silence. Your letter 
breathes of tender regard for him. Is not that a debt 
of some magnitude you place on me ? A debt I am 
proud to acknowledge. Alas ! Madame, it is useless to 
hope to combat my father's repugnance to the marriage 
you appear to think so natural. I know my father. 
His prejudices are few, and strong indeed must be that 
which raises an impassable barrier to my happiness. I 
hold it as a religious duty to respect it, and smother the 
feelings of rebellion that sometimes rise and stiffen my 
heart against him. I have no right to rebel, for he 
loves me — oh, he loves me very dearly. I think he 
would almost give his life for mine, and most willingly 
would I lay down mine for his. Since I was a little 
child he has cared for me and cherished me. He has 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


324 

tried to make me the sharer of his great learning, that 
there might be no division between us, that I might be 
rather a disciple following afar than an alien to the one 
object of his existence. You see, it is no common bond 
you ask me to break. It would be something more 
than the flight of a daughter, — it would be the defection 
of a pupil — and he, the tenderest master ! I could not 
bear, by any action of mine, to forfeit my worthiness of 
such exclusive devotion, and should I not do so past 
excuse if I were to cause him one pang of disappoint- 
ment or anger ? 

“To follow your counsel, and take my destiny info my 
own hands by one wild leap into the bliss my heart calls 
for, would be to risk his anger without the assurance 
that ultimately I should be forgiven. Do not urge me 
to it, I beseech you. My father ill and alone ! The 
thought would make a mockery of my happiness. It 
would be a pall upon my bridal robes. Forgive me, 
Madame. I love you for your wish to help me, though 
the effort be ineffectual. If I boldly seem to criticise, 
believe me, it is with no intention to wound. You will 
think me a coward, perhaps, for I know that it is differ- 
ent with the women of your race. They act without 
scruple for themselves, and their parents have no other 
choice than to yield to theirs. But I cannot bring my- 
self to regard this as right. He cannot surely desire 
that I should come to him thus — with the stain of strife 
and revolt upon our love. You see I am fastidiously 
jealous of the future. It is so fatally easy for the 
young, upon the impetus of ungovernable passion, to 
let themselves be precipitated into rash errors : so diffi- 
cult to recover forfeited ground. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


325 


“But how fervently I thank you for your sweet sym- 
pathy and your offer of a home until such time as an- 
other would be mine, I have not words to say. Your 
heart must be fresh to be so tenderly open to the sor- 
rows of the young. I shall bless the day that brings 
us face to face. If you would visit our island ! But 
we are so rough and backward, and the stillness, I fear, 
would prove oppressive to one from a country where, I 
am assured, movement is the extremity of haste. And 
yet I love the place all the more from my short absence 
from it. It was like heaven to see it again, to feel 
the untrodden ground beneath my feet, to watch the 
unfretted stars from a world below as uneager and as 
changeless. The seasons are not more regular than 
our habits, and excitement is undreamed of by us. 
The villagers come to me with their simple woes, and I 
comfort them and doctor them, and instil into them 
such wisdom as my young head has mastered. Some- 
times my dear father comes to my help, — not often, for 
they are less afraid of me. It is, I suppose, because I 
am nearer to them. 

“This letter shames me, it is so idle and garrulous. 
What have I to say but that I love you, Madame,— I 
love you, and beg you to accept the assurance of my 
heartfelt gratitude and my affectionate friendship. 

“ Inarime Selaka." 

This letter might seem to lack the artlessness and 
spontaneity of girlhood. But its very restraint held a 
precious eloquence for Gustav, and it was not the less 
dear to him because he felt the writer was completely 
master of her mind. It held no want for him. He 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


326 

read between the lines, and adored the eyes the more 
that he understood their tears were held in check. The 
lips may have trembled in the reawakened force of 
passion, the gaze have grown dim with longing, the 
pulses throbbed to ache and ebbed away upon the 
sickening wave of despair, but the letter only breathed 
of weakness conquered, the pressure of a restraint im- 
posed by life-long habit, and could not be called artifi- 
cial. He reverenced her sweet reasonableness and 
her grave acceptance of the inevitable. He re-read the 
letter carefully, and kissed the name at the end. Why 
had she avoided the writing of his ? He began to walk 
about the room, picking out sentences to burn upon 
his memory, when his eyes detected a slip of paper 
upon the ground. He pounced upon it with a presenti- 
ment of what it was. Herrn Gustav Reineke was written 
outside, and it was delicately folded. He opened it, 
and his breathing could have been heard at the other 
end of the room. 

“Dear One — my dearest! My father has at last 
consented to let me remain unmarried — but that is all. 
We may hope for nothing more. Still, our love is re- 
spected. 1 cannot think it is wrong of me to send you 
this message. At least, 1 hope it is not. You have 
my faith. O, I love you, I love you/' 

Gustav sat through the night with his head bent over 
this message. Desires and thoughts and wild hopes 
wavered and shot through him like arrows, now swift 
and sharp, now blunt and slow, needlessly lacerating 
in their passage. When morning came he shook off 
his dream, and replied to Miss Winter s glance of veiled 
interrogation by a look supplicating silence. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


327 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

HOW A MAID OF ATHENS AVENGED HERSELF. 

One day late in October the news somehow or other 
reached Rudolph, when at Cannes, that Selaka and his 
daughter were back in Athens. Without a word of 
explanation to Photini, who was engaged upon a pub- 
lic concert, he started off, and arrived in Athens late at 
night. The Baron and Baroness von Hohenfels were 
startled at their midday breakfast, next morning, by the 
entrance of the prodigal. 

“Rudolph, good heavens ! ” cried the baron, and 
shook him gladly by the hand, but Rudolph was cold 
almost to rudeness. Pie suffered himself to be em- 
braced by his aunt, and then went and stood against 
the mantelpiece. It was impossible not to note and 
deplore the change in him : from an engaging and 
innocent boy he had turned, in less than a year, into a 
hard and reckless-looking young-old man. His air 
was aristocratic but strangely unattractive, and his fair 
face was lined as no face should be lined at twenty-two. 
The blue eyes that used to be so soft in their clear- 
ness, so like his mother’s, as the Baroness thought, 
were now keen and glittering and held a dull fire within 
them. He stood thus looking moodily down, and then 
said curtly : 

“You are surprised to see me, I suppose?” 

“Well, I will admit,” the baron answered, “some- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


328 

thing in the nature of an announcement might have 
been expected, as a reasonable concession to the laws 
of courtesy. But since you are here, you had better 
sit down and take some breakfast with us.” 

Rudolph laughed, and took a chair at the table. 
Before eating he poured himself out a generous tumbler 
of wine, and drank it almost at a draught. The baron 
stared a little, looked across at his wife, and lifted his 
brows meaningly. The talk at first was light. Rudolph 
touched upon the places he had seen, and made himself 
exceedingly witty and merry at the expense of the dis- 
tinguished personages he had met in the course of his 
travels. He asked how matters stood at Athens ; 
inquired after Agiropoulos and Mademoiselle Veritassi, 
the Mowbray-Thomases, and his friend the young Vis- 
count, but never a word was said about Andromache. 
Then lying back in his chair, and lighting a cigar, the 
baron asked, with a mocking smile. 

“And, my amiable nephew, how fares it with the 
fascinating Natzelhuber? ” 

Rudolph drew in his brows with a frown, and look- 
ing hastily at his aunt, said : 

“We will not discuss her, sir, if you please.” 

“Oh,” assented the baron, interjectionally, and 
busied himself with his cigar; “may one, without 
indiscretion, be permitted to inquire into your plans for 
the future ? ” 

“I have no plans,” said Rudolph, taking up a cigar. 

“At least I see,” laughed the baron, “you have 
succumbed to the beneficial influence of tobacco.” 

“Yes, I smoke now ; I do most things now that other 
men do.” 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


3 2 9 


“So I perceive,” said the baron, drily, “you even 
look as if you did a little more,” he added, noting that 
Rudolph had helped himself to a second glass of 
brandy. 

When Rudolph stood up, the baroness stopped him 
with a demand to know if they might expect the pleas- 
ure of his presence at dinner that night. 

The young man nodded and left the room. 

“A singularly altered young man,” said the baron, 
across to his wife, “it seems to me that the Natzelhu- 
ber has imparted some of her natural courtesy to him, 
and given his manners the piquant flavour of origi- 
nality ! ” 

“Oh, he is frightfully changed,” said the baroness ; 
“and did you remark his deplorable weakness for 
wine ? 

“Well, yes, it struck me, I confess, that he rather 
copiously washed down the small allowance of food 
he indulged in.” 

“ Poor boy, we must only try and keep him here 
now that we have him, and get up a few lively entertain- 
ments for him. That he is wretched it is easy to see. I 
think his recklessness comes from despair.” 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. “ That is always 
the way with well-brought-up youths, — the slightest 
folly plays the very mischief with their temperaments, 
and they are ever in extremes, whether on the path of 
virtue or on the more fascinating road to the dogs ! ” 

While the easy-going ambassador was thus moral- 
ising, Rudolph was scouring Athens in search of tid- 
m gs of the Selakas. Having ascertained at the Hotel 
des Elrangers that they had gone out for a drive, he 


33 ° 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


returned to the Embassy, borrowed one of his uncle’s 
horses, and was soon out upon the open road, sweeping 
the plain of Attica with eager glances strained in every 
direction for the carriage in which the father and 
daughter might be found. 

Upon the skirt of the olive-misted plain he dis- 
mounted, and entered the leafy shade of a little cafe 
garden, lost in a glade of scented pines and oleanders. 
Here he called for cognac, and sat moodily smoking 
until the sun went down. 

Let us glance at the house of Karapolos now, situated 
in Solon Street. Miltiades is back from Thessaly, more 
glorious and more ferocious than ever. He learnt 
that morning of Rudolph’s reappearance in Athens, and 
communicated that fact to his family at dinner. That 
evening, as he returned from duty, he missed a 
dainty silver pistol his friend Hadji Adam had given 
him. With a brow of thunder and voice of menace 
he sallied forth and had his servant Theodore arrested 
for the robbery. While Theodore was being carried 
off, shrieking and protesting, and calling upon all the 
saints and the Virgin and the soul of his dead mother 
to witness that he was being falsely accused, Androm- 
ache, for some unaccountable reason was wandering 
about the steep solitudes ofLycabettus in company with 
the faithful Maria. She had been allowed to go forth 
in pursuit of veils and gloves in the frequented street of 
Hermes. Now, what, one asks, could take a young 
lady towards sunset up a lonely and rugged slope of 
Lycabettus, when her ostensible journey lay in the 
region of shops? This was a secret known only to 
Andromache and to the faithful Maria. 


DAUGHTERS OP MEN. 


33 * 

On the following afternoon, Andromache begged 
her mother to take her to hear the band play upon 
Constitution Square. The square was thronged, the 
ladies, as is customary in Athens, walking together, 
and the men in similar fraternity, Captain Miltiades 
was with these, and so were Agiropoulos and the 
popular poet. 

A close observer might have noticed that Androm- 
ache’s pretty dark blue eyes glistened with a curious 
light ; that the blood had left her face and lips, and 
that she walked like one in a state of nervous excite- 
ment. Poor, betrayed, little Andromache ! if only she 
had confided her frantic purpose to somebody, and had 
not all these months repressed her sorrow, and striven 
to show a brave front to the curious .world ! Many 
horrors are spared the loquacious, and the worst follies 
are those committed by silent sufferers. Andromache 
kept looking fixedly round in evident watch for some 
one. If you want to meet any one in Athens, you are 
sure to do so between Stadion Street and Constitution 
Square. The person Andromache was looking for 
soon made his appearance, walking casually along, 
not caring greatly to examine the people that were 
hustling against him. He sat down at a cafe table, and 
called for coffee, and while waiting for it began to 
roll up a cigarette, and unconsciously hummed the 
melody of Waldteufel’s “Souvenir,” which the band 
was playing. Andromache made a step forward from her 
mother’s side to the table at which Rudolph was seated ; 
and in a second she whipped out of her breast the little 
silver pistol, for the loss of which Theodore was in 
prison, and fired straight at the shoulder of her recreant 


332 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


lover. Imagine the commotion, the whirr of speech 
and explanation, the jostling to look at the injured maid 
and the wounded man. The band stopped playing in 
the middle of Waldteufel’s charming waltz, band-master 
and band attracted to the spot. Strange as it may 
appear, all Hellenic sympathies were upon the side of 
Andromache : not a single voice of censure was raised 
against her, but everybody seemed to think that she 
had performed a feat of courage. Here her courage 
ended ; the pistol fell from her hand, and she dropped 
rigid into her mothers arms. She was carried home, 
and soon passed into the unconsciousness of brain fever. 
Rudolph was not seriously injured, but faint enough to 
need the help of a carriage to take him back to the 
Austrian Embassy, with the prospect of confinement to 
his room for a few days. 

The Baron von Hohenfels in his official position was 
greatly perturbed by this scandal, and made immediate 
application for a change of post. He was too angry 
to visit his luckless nephew’s room until the baroness’ 
prayers melted him. When Dr. Galenides had seen the 
patient, and pronounced him in a favourable condition 
for recovery, the baron suffered himself to be led to the 
bedside. 

Rudolph looked very piteous upon his pillow, with 
the flush of fever on his white cheeks and a harassed, 
humble expression in his eyes. The much aggrieved 
baron relented, hummed and hawed a little as a kind 
of impatient protest, stroked his beard, and finally 
began, in a softened voice : 

“My dear boy, are you quite satisfied now that you 
have made Athens too hot for an Austrian Ambas- 
sador ? ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


333 

“I am very sorry, uncle/’ said Rudolph, and he 
looked it. 

“Well, yes, I can quite believe that you are not ex- 
actly jubilant.” 

“As soon as I am well enough to move, I'll leave 
Greece, and wild horses will never drag me here 
again.” 

“On the whole, I think you have done fairly well 
upon the classic shores of Hellas, and it would be as 
well to confine yourself to the rest of Europe during 
the remainder of your mortal career. But it is a little 
hard on me that my family should reflect discredit 
upon my country. Zounds ! Could you not have 
understood that the Greeks are a most susceptible and 
clannish race ? There is one thing they will not for- 
give, and that is an affront done a compatriot by a 
stranger. And we Austrians, you must know, are not 
more adored here than the English. In fact, we are 
hated. If the French viscount had jilted Mademoiselle 
Andromache Karapolos, and had been shot at by her, 
public indignation would have taken a considerably 
modified tone.” 

“ What can I do, uncle ? ” asked Rudolph, penitently. 

“Get well as soon as possible, and give Athens a 
wide berth. I cannot advise you to fling yourself at the 
feet of the fair Andromache, for I don’t believe that 
young lady could very well persuade herself to forgive 
you after this public scandal. It is a stupid affair 
altogether. I .thought you were flirting, but an engage- 
ment ! Good heavens ! Wha,t do you imagine to be 
the value of a gentleman's word? A promise of mar- 
riage is not a thing that can be lightly made, because 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


334 

it is not a thing that can ever be lightly broken. The 
man is called a cad, and the woman a jilt ; and both 
are greatly the worse for such a reputation.” 

Rudolph said nothing, but his way of turning on his 
pillow was a direct appeal for mercy. The baron felt 
it to be so, and got up, believing that the heavy respon- 
sibilities of uncle were accomplished with grace and 
dignity. 

When the illustrious Dr. Galenides called next 
day, he found his patient so far recovered that he felt 
disposed to sit at his bedside, and chat with him in a 
friendly way. 

“My dear young friend,” he said, cheerfully, “it is 
the fault of youth, and perhaps, in a measure, its vir- 
tue, to be too precipitate. If intelligent young people 
could only be induced to take for their motto that wise 
and ancient precept, ‘ &yav — which I believe the 

French translate as ‘le juste milieu,' — there would be 
no such thing as maidens forced to avenge themselves 
by means of a pistol, nor young men deserving such 
treatment. ” 

Rudolph shrank a little, and said, with assumed 
coldness : 

“Pray, doctor, do not think hardly of her. I be- 
haved badly to her, and only cowardice kept me from 
goingto her and asking her to forgive me.” 

Dr. Galenides smiled and bowed. 

“She is regarded as a heroine now.” 

“And I, my uncle tells me, as a cad,” cried Rudolph, 
bitterly. 

“Well, not exactly as a hero, I have to admit.” 

“Have you heard how she is, doctor?” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


335 

“Very ill indeed — brain fever, — but she is young 
and strong.'* 

“Doctor, if you see her, will you take her a mes- 
sage ? I dare not write. Tell her my sufferings have 
been greater than hers, and tell her I shall always 
remember her as a sweet and charming girl far too 
good for me. I hope she will be happy. As for me, 
doctor, my life is wrecked upon the threshold." 

“One always thinks so at twenty-two. At thirty- 
two one understands that it is rather difficult to wreck 
a man’s life. Get well, my dear Monsieur Ehrenstein. 
Life is a very pleasant thing, I assure you, full 
of kindly surprise and interest. And remember the 
wise motto of my old friends — ‘ M^o-eu Ayav — neither 
extreme, the just middle," ended the physician, bal- 
ancing by way of illustration a paper knife upon his 
finger. 

While Dr. Galen ides was putting on his gloves, the 
baroness entered the room, accompanied by Pericles 
Selaka. Rudolph’s face went bright scarlet, and 
then turned white, with a pinched, and anxious ex- 
pression. 

“You, Pericles!’’ cried Dr. Galenides, with some- 
thing like alarm in his voice. “I was on my way to 
you." 

“Oh, I am much better to-day, and wanted very 
much to see how this other patient of yours is getting 
on," said Selaka, approaching. 

“Are you ill, too?" asked Rudolph, excitedly. 

“A little unwell, but it is nothing," answered Se- 
laka, with a smile, as he took Rudolph’s hand and 
held it. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


336 

Dr. Galenides glanced significantly at the baroness, 
and went away. 

Selaka leant across the side of the bed, and looked 
steadily at Rudolph, over whom the baroness was 
hovering with maternal attentions. The sick man 
reached out his hand to take his aunt’s, and held it an 
instant to his lips. 

“Poor fellow ! you will be excited in a minute,” said 
the baroness. 

“It is kind of you, Herr Selaka, to come to me,” 
Rudolph said, in German. 

* ‘ I am sorry for what has happened, ” returned Selaka. 
“I know nothing more regrettable than the frantic pre- 
cipitancy and anger of youth. I cannot understand 
why you should have made a promise you did not con- 
sider binding, or why, having made it, you should 
have broken it. It would not be my place to speak 
upon a matter so delicate and so private, did I not feel, 
through a member of my family, partly responsible for 
your misbehaviour.” 

“I doubt the utility or kindness of scolding the 
wrong-doer when the mischief is done,” interrupted 
the good-natured baroness. 

“Scold ! I trust I do not seem to scold, madame,” 
said Selaka, opening his eyes, and thrusting out his 
hand with an air of stately reproach. ‘ ‘ Not even you can 
be more sorry for this young man’s misfortune. He is 
much censured at present. But my voice is not amongst 
those that censure him. I simply do not understand 
how he can have behaved so unwisely. But my heart 
is filled with pity for him. I am sure he never wished 
to wrong or pain any one, and I deeply feel that one of 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN . 


337 

my name should unconsciously have been the means 
of bringing this grief upon him, and upon others. 
Had he trusted me when he first found his faith waver- 
ing where he had hoped it anchored, I should have 
taken measures to protect him from his own uncertain 
heart. Believe me, it would have been best so, and 
you, my poor young friend, would have been the 
happier.” 

“ Perhaps you are right, sir,” said Rudolph, wearily. 
“I am sure I do not know. But tell me — tell me 
something about her — about your daughter. Does she 
despise me?” 

“She grieves for you, and deplores her own disas- 
trous influence upon you.” 

‘ * She need not. I do not desire that she should grieve 
for me,” cried Rudolph. “ You all speak of me as if I 
had committed some frightful crime — a murder, a for- 
gery, a felony — as if I had incurred indelible shame. 
Granted I have misbehaved myself — we will even 
grant that I have not acted as a gentleman — am I the 
first to find he had given his promise to the wrong 
person ? ” 

“Rudolph Ehrenstein, you well know you have done 
worse than this, — you affronted your deserted bride by 
linking your life in the face of the world with that of a 
woman who had already incurred public odium. This 
is what grieves me most, and it is this step I feel that 
drove that unhappy girl to her mad act.” 

“We will not speak of her, if you please, Herr 
Selaka,” said Rudolph, with a proud look. “As for 
Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, it wounds me that she 
should be so cruelly misjudged. Believe me, under 

i 22 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


338 

more fortunate circumstances, she would have been a 
good woman. She is full of kindness and sympathy 
for every phase of misery. She gives away the money 
she earns more freely than many rich people spend 
that which they inherit. She is an unhappy woman, 
sir ; there is nothing base or shabby in her, and I am 
not so sure that there is not a good deal that is noble.” 

“ I can well believe you, Herr Rudolph. I have not 
the honour of knowing Mademoiselle Natzelhuber, and 
the public voice rather loves to spread abroad the fame 
of glaring vices than that of private virtues. The lady, 
I believe, has made a point of shocking every accepted 
canon of taste, and, of course, society revenges itself by 
painting her as black as possible. But we Greeks, 
despite our French tastes, are a very sober and a very 
moral people, and a step like yours takes away our 
breath. This sounds like preaching, does it not? But 
I am grieved, distressed. I would have given you 
Inarime, — once, I almost wished it. However, it was 
useless to hope for that. My daughter’s heart is given 
elsewhere, and it is well now that it is so. Still, had 
you told me of this entanglement, had you left it in my 
power to aid you ! Young men, I know, sometimes 
shrink from opening their hearts to their parents and 
relatives. But me you would have found indulgent and 
perhaps helpful. ’* 

Rudolph stretched out his hand and Selaka clasped it 
warmly. 

“Thank you, sir! It would have made all the 
difference if Inarime thought as you do. Do you know 
why I came back to Athens ? ” 

“ I think I can guess,” said Selaka, smiling. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


339 

“ On, I loved her so ! and, Heaven help me, I cannot 
choose but love her still. May I hope to see her, sir ? ” 
he asked, humbly. 

“ No, Herr 'Rudolph,” said Selaka, shaking- his head. 
“ That I cannot permit, nor would she consent. In the 
years to come, when I shall be no more, it will be for 
her to choose her friends, but as long as I stand between 
her and the world those friends shall be spotless, or at 
least their names shall be untainted by the breath of 
public scandal.” 

“The lives of young men would be very different if 
all parents were as particular and severe as you, Herr 
Selaka,” observed the baroness, turning round from the 
window. 

Rudolph moved upon his pillow, and covered his 
eyes with his arm. 

“You are right, sir, I am not worthy to look upon 
her,” he said. 

Suddenly there was heard from the hall an ominous 
sound, the louder because of the stillness of the house. 
The baroness ran to the door and held it open, listening 
anxiously. Could that voice, pitched in a key of lofty 
indignation, be mistaken for other than the voice of an 
angry hero? Ah, who but Miltiades, the glory of 
modern Athens, could stride in that magnificent fashion 
through a hall, clatter and clang his spurs along the 
tesselated pavement, rattle and shake the stairs, the 
balustrade, with as much noise as all the heroes of 
Homer sacking Ilion ; nodding fearful menace in his 
crimson plumes and sending potent lightning flames 
with his violet glances ? 

The baroness looked question and alarm at Selaka, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


340 

and poor Rudolph, cowed by weakness and fright, 
shuddered among his pillows, whiter far than the linen 
that framed his face. 

“Do not seek to bar my passage, menial/’ Miltiades 
was roaring, as the clatter and clang of sword and 
spurs approached the sick chamber. “ It is Monsieur 
Rudolph Ehrenstein I desire to see.” 

Even Rudolph could not resist a ghastly smile at 
hearing his name so curiously pronounced by the 
warrior. Miltiades stood upon the threshold, and the 
baroness could not have looked more petrified if she 
had found herself confronted by an open cannon. 

“ Madame,” said Miltiades, ever the pink of courtesy, 
as the brave should be to the fair ; after his most cere- 
monious military salute, he advanced a step, and said, 
“ I have a few words to say to your nephew, Monsieur 
Rudolph Ehrenstein.” 

“Enter, enter, I pray you, Captain Karapolos,” said 
the baroness in rather halting but intelligible Greek. 
“My nephew is ill — as you see. Perhaps you will 
consent to spare him the unpleasantness of a scene. 
He is very ill.” 

“So, madame, is my sister. Dr. Galenides tells me 
she will hardly recover. Is this to be borne quietly — 
think you ? ” 

“ Kyrie Selaka, explain to him — I do not know Greek 
well enough. Tell him how grieved, how miserably 
sad the baron and I are about this business. Speak 
kindly for us and try to soothe him. I understand he 
must be in a desperate state, and heaven knows how 
sincerely I pity him. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, when 
will you young men learn to think of others as well as 
yourselves ? ” she cried, distractedly. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


341 


“ Captain Karapolos, this proceeding of yours is 
surely as unseemly as it is futile,” said Selaka. “ What 
good do you expect can come of such a step ? It will 
not restore your sister to health and happiness, and you 
but needlessly inflict pain upon this lady, who is sin- 
cerely distressed for you. My dear sir, the great lesson 
of life is, that the inevitable must be accepted. We 
cannot go back on our good deeds or our ill, and it is 
not now in the power of this young man to repair the 
mischief he has done. The consequences of wrong- 
doing cannot be shirked by those who suffer them, or 
by those who have done the wrong. They baffle each 
step of flight and struggle, and hunt us down remorse- 
lessly.” 

“My dear sir, such stuff may suit a pulpit or a 
university chair, but it offends the ear of a soldier. I 
care not a jot for the inevitable, and, as far as I am con- 
cerned, this young man will answer to me for his evil 
deeds — to me, sir, Miltiades Karapolos, captain of King 
George’s Artillery,” shouted Miltiades, slapping his chest 
emphatically. 

Rudolph sat up in bed, and asked feebly : 

“ Did he say, Herr Selaka, that Andromache is very 
ill?” 

Selaka bowed, and Miltiades glared interrogation. 

“ Dangerously ill? ” 

“ It appears so.” 

“Oh, good God! what a wretch I have been! 
Please tell him, if she gets better, and will consent to 
forgive me, I will gladly fulfil my engagement. Tell 
him it was not because Andromache ceased to be dear 
to me that I left her, but that, loving somebody else, I 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


342 

felt I had ceased to be worthy of her. Tell him it was 
not, heaven knows, for my pleasure I so acted, that it 
was a horrible grief to me.” 

Miltiades glanced suspiciously from one to the other, 
and looked annihilation and contempt upon the sick 
youth. 

“What does the fellow say? ” he demanded, fiercely. 

Selaka faithfully repeated Rudolph’s message. If 
Miltiades had been thunder before, he was lightning 
now added. He stalked to the bed, struck Rudolph 
full in the face, and without another word strode from 
the room. 

“ Good gracious ! ” cried the baroness, and fell limply 
into a chair. 

“I must get well now,” muttered Rudolph, between 
his teeth. 

Next day Agiropoulos and the popular poet called. 
It was known all over Athens that, as well as having 
been shot at by the sister, Rudolph had been struck by 
the brother. Agiropoulos took a fiendish delight in the 
situation. Personally he asked nothing better than to 
console the heroine as soon as she should have strug- 
gled back from the encompassing shadows of unreason. 
He was quite ready to place at her disposal fortune, 
hand, and heart, as much as he possessed of that super- 
fluous commodity, which, it must be confessed, was little 
enough. He loved notoriety in any form* and' was en- 
chanted with the veil of romance that enveloped An- 
dromache, not in the least scrupulous upon the point that 
the veil was smirched with powder and blood. If pos- 
sible, these unusual stains but gave an added impetus 
to his interest. 


DAUGHTERS OR MEM 


343 

“Well, my young friend,” he said, sitting down and 
elegantly crossing his legs, while, the better to survey 
the sorry hero of the tragedy, he adjusted his eye-glass 
with that peculiar grimace common to those thus deco- 
rated. “You look a little the worse for Mademoiselle 
Andromache’s last embrace — eh?” he queried, and 
turned with a smile to the popular poet. 

“He has the air of Endymion after the desertion of 
Diana,” said the poet. 

“'Was Endymion deserted? Faith, that is a piece of 
mythological information for me. We live and learn, 
eh, Ehrenstein ? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said Rudolph, drearily. “The learn- 
ing is not more pleasant than the living.” 

“You charming boy ! so delightful to know that in- 
nocence still flourishes in pur midst. The century is 
exhausted, but a young heart is a perennial fount of 
misery. For, my young friend, there is no more sure 
prophecy of youth and innocence than utter woe and 
dejection. If you give him time, Michaelopoulos will 
put that into a neat verse for you. ” 

“Don’t, pray. I hate poetry,” cried Rudolph. 

“It is, I believe, on record that babes have been 
known to hate milk,” said Agiropoulos, blandly. 

“Don’t weary me with smart talk. I have other 
things to think of, Agiropoulos, and cannot listen to 
your witticisms,” protested Rudolph. 

“Don’t mention it. I will be dull to please you. 
May a poor forsaken wretch inquire after the health of 
a quondam mistress ? ” 

“ Agiropoulos, if you have not got the breeding of a 


344 


daughters of men. 


gentleman, try to remember when you are in the pres- 
ence of one,” cried Rudolph. 

“Whew!” whistled Agiropoulos, with his enigmatic 
smile. 

“I suppose, Ehrenstein, you don’t exactly want an- 
other challenge ? ” 

“I want nothing, and I most certainly don’t want 
you.” 

“ Is this delirium, think you, Michaelopoulos ? ” 

“ Looks uncommonly like it,” the poet replied. 

“Let me feel your pulse, Monsieur Endymion — what 
an appropriate comparison for the moment ! That 
young gentleman was, we are given to understand, 
partial to the recumbent attitude. But we are rather 
embarrassed by our choice of Selene. Which shall it 
be, Ehrenstein, first, second or third ? ” 

“ Will you do me the favour of leaving my room, 
sir?” ordered Rudolph, frigidly. “When I have 
finished with Captain Miltiades Karapolos, I shall be 
happy to dispose of your claims, Agiropoulos, and 
then of your friend’s, if he thinks proper to demand the 
privilege.” 

“And then of each of the desposyne Inarime’s 
suitors, comprising a list of two members of parliament, 
a mayor, a justice of the peace, forty or fifty bachelor 
islanders and a distinguished archaeologist. Don’t 
forget the archaeologist, I implore you, Rudolph 
Demolish him before you touch me, or Michaelopoulos — 
the name is rather long, but practice will accustom your 
tongue to it — besides, your mellifluous German will be 
a substantial aid. First lay low the mighty Karapolos, 
and in a moment you avenge five thousand desolate 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


345 

Turkish hearths — have they hearths in Turkey ? Then 
give the deathly accolade to the archaeologist. After 
that, of course, these two humble individuals are en- 
tirely at your disposal, as the courtly Spaniards say. 
Do you know Spanish ? Neither do I. Ta-ta, my 
friend. You have a heavy day’s work before you when 
you get well, Monsieur Endymion. To sweep off the 
face of the earth a Greek hero, a Greek poet, a Greek 
merchant, a Turkish archaeologist, an insular demarch, 
two members of parliament, a justice of the peace, and 
fifty Teniotes. Lead me from the presence of this 
bloodthirsty youth, friend. I shudder,” cried Agiro- 
poulos. 

Mighty is the passion of anger — mightier far than 
that of love. Anger lifted Rudolph out of his sick bed, 
and placed him, one chill November morning, opposite 
Miltiades in a lonely field under the shadow of Lyca^. 
bettus, with Hadji Adam for his antagonist’s second 
and the French viscount for his own. The duel ter- 
minated for Rudolph, as nineteenth century duels fre- 
quently do, but Miltiades was imprisoned for fourteen 
days in his own room in Solon Street, with a soldier 
mounted guard outside, for his colonel, with an unheroic 
disregard for the laws of honour, judged his act an 
infringement of military law. 

While Rudolph, with bitterness in his heart and 
humiliation on his brow, was speeding back to Cannes 
and to Photini, Agiropoulos progressed favourably 
with his wooing. Half-dead with shame at her noto- 
riety, poor Andromache asked nothing better than a 
chance of getting away for ever from Athens. 


346 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

CONTAINS A RELICATION AND A PROMISE. 

Two men coming by opposite directions down 
Hermes Street, with their eyes anywhere but where 
they ought to have been, stumbled into each other’s 
arms, and started back instantly, with aggressive 
question on their faces. 

“Well, Constantine,” one cried, eyeing the other 
furtively and distrustfully. 

“Well, Stavros,” the other responded, with a corre- 
sponding expression. 

“ Here’s my hand, Constantine,” Stavros said, after a 
reflective pause, and held out his hand with an air of 
strenuous cordiality. “Touch it. It’s a loyal hand, 
and an honest one. I was always your friend, always 
liked you.” 

“ And so did I,” assented Constantine, as he laid his 
upon the extended palm shamefacedly. 

“What! yourself? I never doubted it, my dear 
fellow.” 

“No, you,” Constantine muttered sulkily. 

“ Come, that’s like old times,” roared Stavros, putting 
an arm through the unreluctant Selaka’s, and wheeling 
him round towards Constitution Square. “ It does me 
good to hear you after our stupid quarrel. ” 

“Yes, it was stupid,” Constantine admitted. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


347 

The glorious Miltiades, crossing the square, hailed 
them with his full-dress military salute, and hurrying 
up, shook them boisterously by the hand and bestowed 
the clap of patronage upon their backs, while a humorous 
twinkle in his handsome eyes betrayed remembrance 
of their heroic encounter. 

“The reconciliation of the Inseparables! A sight 
for the gods. Achilles and Agamemnon, I am pro- 
foundly rejoiced at your good sense/’ 

“ Friends can shake hands, I suppose, Captain Kara- 
polos, without all this ado," sneered Stavros, resent- 
fully. 

“So they can, but I could not resist the temptation 
to stop and offer my congratulations. Hoch ! Trinken 
sie wein ! " he shouted, proud of his German, and 
turned on his heel laughing heartily. 

“ The greatest idiot in all Athens," exclaimed Stavros, 
scowling after him. 

The reconciled friends seated themselves at a table, 
called for coffee, and began to roll up cigarettes. 

“I'll tell you a secret, Constantine," said Stavros, 
as he leaned across and spoke in the subdued tone of 
confidence. “That Oidas is an unconscionable black- 
guard. You always thought it, I know, and you were 
right." 

Selaka, perfectly conscious that he had never imparted 
any such opinion ofOTdas to Stavros, blinked uneasily, 
and took upon himself the air of full admission. 

“You found him out ?" he interrogated, cautiously. 

“ I should think so," Stavros exclaimed, waving his 
hand comprehensively. “ But there are limits to my 
endurance. I am going to throw him over. I have 


348 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


compromised myself by being mixed up with such a 
fellow. He has money — and he makes no scruple of 
his use of it.” 

“You showed a fine tolerance, too, my friend.” 

It still made Constantine sore to reflect that his closest 
friend had been bought over by the richer man. 

“No, truly. You are quite in error. It was not the 
money, but I thought I could do so much better for 
my family. You see, Constantine, a man must hold 
no private feelings in abeyance when the interests of 
the family call upon him to silence them. You cannot 
have imagined our quarrel was not a cause of real 
distress to me. But now we are good friends, eh ? ” 

“ That depends. Why do you dislike Oidas? ” 

“Oh, for several reasons. He behaved like a villain 
all round to me, to you and to your family. I mean to 
expose him. He promised to make room for us at the 
University and to get my son that post I have so long 
coveted for him. He has not fulfilled a single obliga- 
tion he contracted with me. I had much better have 
trusted to you. You are not rich, and the golden mist 
through which he shines dazzled me. I did not expect 
him to come to me direct, and to sue me with soft talk. 
We all do the best we can for ourselves, Constantine, 
and often the best is barren of result.” 

“ Well, I don’t want to be hard on you now that you 
have come to see your error. You have thrown him 
over then ? ” 

“Quite so. We are quits. Some time my hour of 
revenge will come — it always does if patiently waited 
for, and if you like to join me, it will be yours too. 
You don’t imagine, I hope, that I had anything to do 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


349 

with that wretched article about Inarime in the 
‘Aristophanes'? I abused him for it horribly. He 
instigated it, you know.” 

“Oidas! the mighty heavens! His motive, 
Stavros? ” 

“He heard about that Turkish fellow, and Agiro- 
poulos very maliciously assured him he had no chance. 
He was wild when he knew it was all round Athens 
that he wanted to marry a girl who didn’t want him. 
He took it into his head he was flouted and mocked, 
and he resolved to bespatter the girl with as much mud 
as possible.” 

“The villain! the hound!” Constantine muttered, 
incapable of coherent speech or thought. 

“She is back in Tenos, I believe ? ” 

Constantine nodded, with blazing inward-seeing 
eyes. 

“He is in Athens — buoyed up, I suppose, with 
hope.” 

“He! Who?” 

“Your romantic Reineke, — a handsome fellow, too?” 

“Where is he staying?” 

“Just opposite, — the Grande Bretagne.” 

Constantine rose with an undefined purpose, and 
Agiropoulos, lazily sauntering across the square, nodded 
and placed an arresting hand on his shoulder. 

“My dear fellow ! How fares it with your island 
Majesty ? Such a comfort to have a vestige of royalty, 
— even spurious royalty in our midst, now that the real 
thing has temporarily migrated to Denmark. ” 

“How do you do, Agiropoulos?” said Stavros, 
crossly. 


35o 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


“Ah, my excellent friend Stavros! The fiery prin- 
cipals ! How thrilling ! Zeus ! that was a bloody 
encounter ! May I implore the soothing charm of your 
society — with a cigarette ? Athens is so dull. All the 
interesting personages of our drama have vanished, 
and there is not the ghost of a sensation to rouse us 

“Are you not going to be married ?” snarled 
Stavros. 

“Yes, the silken chains of Hymen will shortly weave 
their spell around me. The individual sheds his per- 
sonality upon the gamelian threshold, and the dual is 
evolved. Do I transgress the proprieties of speech? 
Alas ! my poor single and consequently unhappy 
friends, you must forgive the metaphysical impetuosities 
of a contemplating bridegroom.” 

He gracefully extracted a cigarette from a dainty 
silver case, and gazed amorously into space. 

“ Miss Karapolos is well ? ” Constantine asked. 

“She is admirably well— and looks it, and your kind 
inquiry leaves me your debtor. The virgin blush of 
health and heroism mantles her brow, and she is all the 
better for her little misadventure and the fever, which 
fortunately for me, the happy successor, has entirely 
carried off the susceptible humours of an earlier 
fancy. ” 

“I am glad to hear it,” Constantine exclaimed, 
heartily. “It is very wise of her to marry at once, 
and shake herself free of the whole affair. It must be 
unpleasant for you, however.” 

“Not in the least, my friend. In the interests of the 
dramatic I am a willing sufferer ; I will go so far as to 
describe myself a delighted martyr. I adore the 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


351 

drama, and if there is a thing that wearies me, it is 
the thought of monotonous and tame maidenhood. 
Mademoiselle Karapolos, in default of a warlike Hector, 
which a mind more classical might exact, will next 
month graciously condescend to accept my name in 
the genitive case. Kyria Agiropoulou (Poor girls ! it 
is sad to think that they are not allowed the privilege 
of a surname in the nominative case) is a heroine 
with a touch of flame and fire in her veins. I have 
none myself, and it gratifies me to know that the 
destructive influence of two phlegmatic temperaments 
is happily avoided for my posterity.” 

‘ ‘ Good heavens ! Who is that ? ” cried Constantine, 
standing, and with his hand grasped the back of a chair, 
and stared amazedly at a slowly advancing carriage. 

Agiropoulos turned round with more haste than his 
boast of a phlegmatic temperament warranted, gazed 
with impertinent and complacent curiosity through 
his eye-glass at a carriage bowling gaily down from 
the Boulevard d’Amelie, which contained an ostensible 
Indian prince, dark but not beautiful, who leaned his 
head indolently against the shoulder of a fashionable 
young Athenian lady, whose mother sat alone with her 
back to the horses. 

“Typical of the graceful and amiable abandonment 
of modern life,” lisped Agiropoulos. “The prince has 
diamonds and rupees in abundance. A little must be 
conceded such a happy being. If this public con- 
cession succeed in the regular way — the mamma on 
the front seat and the gentleman on the back, in her 
place, with his head negligently pillowed on the 
daughter’s shoulder — think of the gain, my friends. 


352 


DA UGHTERS OF MEET. 


Oh, I see it on your lips, my excellent Constantine, 
but spare me the Scriptures. I can stand most things 
but a biblical quotation. Strange, it is only then I 
discover I possess that distressing outcome of modern 
life — nerves. What does it matter — the loss of soul 
against the gain of the world ? I know the quotation. 
The young lady probably has no soul — why should she ? 
A soul is the most inconvenient thing I know of, 
except perhaps a conscience. ” 

“ I call it a disgraceful sight. If the prince does not 
marry her?” thundered Selaka, indignantly. 

“Which is very likely, my dear fellow. In that 
case the mamma will bring her spotted lamb to Paris, 
or perhaps London, or naughtier Vienna, and the stain 
of the royal head will be washed off her shoulder by 
less magnificent wedding favours.” 

“You are brutally cynical, Agiropoulos. Thank 
God, I live on an innocent island where one never 
hears such thoughts expressed. Good-bye, Stavros.” 

“You are indeed an enviable mortal, dropped into 
this mire out of that Arcadia. But go, leave the dust 
and depravity of this much too exciting town, and 
return to your shepherds and flocks and peaceful 
mountain altitudes. To us, alas ! the glitter and dis- 
tracting noises ! ” 

“Good-bye for the present, Constantine. I can’t tell 
you what a relief it is to be friends with you again.” 

‘‘Stay ! one word, I pray your Majesty,” chimed the 
imperturbable Agiropoulos. Selaka flung round un- 
easily, and frowned on him inquiringly. “ Relieve an 
anxious mind. Is the beautiful nymph of the hills 
well ? ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


353 


“My niece?” 

“The peerless maid of Tenos ! Who else? The 
modern Helen ! Strange that history should repeat 
itself. How many Iliums have since been burnt, 
albeit it takes by our humble calculations less than ten 
years nowadays. That’s the beauty of the calendar. 
It ties us to dates, and the newspapers do their best to 
tie us to hard facts.” 

“They don’t always succeed,” sneered Constantine. 

“There speaks the voice of wisdom— with apologies 
to our editor. The ‘ Aristophanes ’ flourishes, I hope ? 
So Helen is well. When does she settle down to 
serene wifehood in the house of Menelaus ? ” 

“Let my niece alone, sir. You are not acquainted 
with her. The respect of women is a commendable 
virtue in young men,” Constantine growled, turning 
on his heel. 

Gustav Reineke was writing in his room when Con- 
stantine was announced. He started up, confused and 
wondering, keeping the hand which held his pen 
pressed upon the papers on the table, and looked 
inquiringly at Inarime’s uncle. 

“ Kyrie Selaka,” he said, and smiled vaguely. 

“ We are strangers known to one another by repute,” 
said Constantine, who bowed and held out his hand 
with the singularly gentlemanly ease of the islander. 

Reineke took his hand and pressed it warmly. 
Read in the illumination of his ardent hopes, this 
visit was a gracious augury which it behoved him to 
receive with visible and cordial satisfaction. 

“ Be seated, pray,” he said, and the smile that lit up 
his dark serene face was as winning as a child’s. 

23 


354 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


“ I suppose you are astonished to see me, sir/’ 

“I am deeply grateful — yes, and a little astonished. 
You have come, I suppose, to bring me news of 
her?” 

“Of — not from her,” Constantine said, prudently. 
“ I am not deputed by any one, you understand.” 

His brows shot up with secretive purpose, and his 
eager glance was full of a meaning it puzzled Reineke 
to read. He nodded affirmatively, and the light upon 
his face sobered to the proper tone of unexpectant 
resignation. 

“ I am grateful under any circumstances. To hear 
of her is second best, and it is not given to man often 
to get anything so good as second best,” he said, 
calmly. 

“You are a philosopher, sir, and philosophy is 
beyond me. My niece is well — patient as you might 
•apprehend. But that mad brother of mine is just an 
obstinate old idiot. He will hear neither of reason 
nor expediency. You had the misfortune to be born a 
Turk, and it is your fatality. He has some curious 
idea that man cannot enter into strife with fate. He 
never had much brains for aught but books, and I have 
observed that books have a naturally weakening effect 
upon the intelligence.” 

Gustav laughed tolerantly, and ostentatiously trifled 
with his papers. 

“You see I too consume paper and the midnight 
oil.” 

“I’ve no doubt of it. You’d have shown yourself 
more sensible in this affair if you didn’t.” 

“As — for instance ? ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


355 


You’d have carried your case high-handedly, and 
reduced the maniac to reason. What are lovers for 
but to create scenes and bear away the maiden upon 
the wings of melodrama ? ” 

Gustav coloured and bent his eyes upon the table. 
This was hardly the sort of man with whom he cared 
to discuss a matter so very delicate that speech almost 
affected it as touch affects the bloom of a peach. 

“Your brother is well ? ” he merely asked. 

“Pericles! Far from it. He has never rightly re- 
covered from that bad attack after — after — the time you 
thrashed that scoundrel O'ldas. You remember? ” 
Gustav reddened darkly, and then paled as suddenly. 
His eyes took the deadly brilliance of a panthers, and 
he said under his breath : 

“ I remember,” closing his teeth upon the memory. 

“ I never had an opportunity of thanking you,” Con- 
stantine cried, jumping up and insisting on shaking 
Reineke’s hands as if they were pump handles. Gustav 
gravely endured the operation, but when the exuberant 
Greek, in his anxiety to discharge his conscience of ar- 
rears of gratitude, bent his head and bestowed two kisses 
on his cheeks, Reineke withdrew a little, and lifted his 
slow Oriental gaze in mild reproof. 

“You owe me nothing,” he said, impassively. 
“Nothing ! ” protested Constantine, noisily, “and the 
honour of our family vindicated ! A miserable coward 
punished ! By the Olympian gods ! but you are a fellow ! 
How my heart rejoiced ! I could have danced ! ” 
Gustav’s face sharpened in the shadow of lassitude. 
The unnecessary violence of Constantine’s mood op- 
pressed and irritated him, but he simply gazed patient 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


356 

inquiry at him, and meekly awaited the promised news 
of Inarime. 

“So you see, Herr Reineke — I suppose I may call 
you by that more familiar name ? — (Gustav bowed) you 
have made me your friend in this matter, and I am re- 
solved you shall have Inarime some day. It will be 
so easy, if you once forget that you are a Turk.” 

“It is kind of you — most kind, but I fail to see how 
you will be able to accomplish it if Inarime’s father 
refuses his consent.” 

“But, the chief bar removed, there will be no reason 
why he should withhold his consent. We’ll see, we’ll 
see,” continued the uncle. “There’s a way out of all 
difficulties. Pericles will come to his senses some day. 
But you are right to respect his prejudices, and so is she. 
In the abstract, that is. I would persecute him if it 
were my case. But lovers are ticklish creatures to 
advise or interfere with. In the meantime, if you will 
keep me informed of your whereabouts, I will let you 
know how matters progress, and will send for you on 
the slightest chance of success after acquainting him 
with your readiness to become one of us.” 

“You will ? Kyrie Selaka, I know not how to thank 
you. Oh, this is indeed much— it is much,” Gustav 
breathed fervently. 

“Not at all. I like you, and I want to see you and 
my niece happy. Hope ! it is I, Constantine Selaka, 
who bid you.” 

Reineke paced the room awhile in silence, keenly 
observed by his companion, and sat down to stare idly 
out of the window. Phrases of Inarime’s letter to Miss 
Winter recurred to him like buoyant messages. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


357 

“You will be here for some time ? ” Constantine asked. 

“As long as you like — as long as you bid me hope.” 

“That is well. You are a distinguished personage, 
Herr Reineke, and it will not be difficult to find you.” 
Then in a lighter tone, dismissing the graver personal 
matter, he broke into town gossip. 

“ I have just met that impertinent young man Agiro- 
poulos. You heard, I suppose, he is going to marry 
that little heroine, the Karapolos girl ? ” 

“How should I? But it is well. A woman is all 
the better for being hedged round with the convention- 
alities of life ; and in no case are they so powerfully pro- 
tecting as when they chain her by marriage, when, 
practically speaking, she ceases to be a responsible 
agent,” Reineke said, and added as an afterthought, to 
exclude Inarime from the slightly contemptuous classi- 
fication, “that is, the average woman, that unexplained 
engine of impulse and unreason.” 

“ Poor little creature ! She was hard hit. I wonder 
what has become of her recreant lover.” 

“ Young Ehrenstein ? ” 

“ Yes. He levanted, you know, with that piano- 
playing woman, the Natzelhuber. ” 

“ I met them in Paris a month ago.” 

“You did? And they are still living together?” 

‘ ‘ Most wretchedly. I cannot understand a man choos- 
ing degradation and misery because the particular hap- 
piness he sets his heart on is beyond his grasp. Women ! 
Yes. If they can’t have the best, they plunge themselves 
into the worst. They are in extremes of goodness and 
badness, and scorn half-measures. I daresay poor 
young Ehrenstein finds a woman’s satisfaction in con- 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


358 

trasting his present with the future that might have 
been.” 

“Quite a boy ! Miserable, you say. Did you speak 
to him ? ” 

“No. He was with Mademoiselle Natzelhuber. I 
would have stopped, but he glowered on me so forbid- 
dingly that perforce I had to pass on in silence and with- 
out bowing. Doubtless he read commiseration in my 
glance, and resented it. They had been quarrelling, 
and each seemed an unloved burden to the other. ” 

“And you heard nothing ? ” 

“I met Mademoiselle Natzelhuber afterwards in a 
fashionable salon. She had been drawn out of her tub, 
by what means I know not, and with Diogenes’ con- 
tempt, consented to play. The soul of despair and un- 
rest was in her fingers. It was the saddest music I ever 
heard. I spoke to her of Rudolph, and she implored 
me to take him off her hands. She said he bored her, 
and the sight of him filled her with inexplicable anger. 
I got their address, and when I called, she received 
me, and thieatened to tear me to pieces if I sought to 
interfere between them. As I walked away, I glanced 
up at the window, and saw Ehrenstein looking down 
listlessly upon me. His face was the face of a lost 
soul.” 

Gustav’s voice dropped to a whisper. Constantine sat 
thrumming the table with his fingers, and jerked his 
head up and down disconsolately. 

“It is an awful story,” he said. 

“It has burnt a hateful picture on my mind. I re- 
member the day I first saw that boy on the Acropolis — 
a mere innocent, unhappy boy. Now he drowns his 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


359 

misery in brandy and shuns his equals. I heard at a 
club that he plays heavily and is steeped in vice.” 

“ The Lord succour him ! He was a child when he 
came to Athens. As for that wretched woman who has 
brought him to this ” 

“She did not. We are needlessly hard on women. 
He walked into the pit with his eyes open, and she was 
simply an instrument of his own choice. If she had not 
been there, he would have found other means,” said 
Gustav. 


360 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 
selaka’s last word. 

Winter had lashed the Eastern world with sharp fren- 
zy, and now early spring was raging over the plain 
of Attica, driving madly in a whirlwind of dust down 
from the encircling hills, with its breath of ice and its 
shrewish roar. And soon it would be at its verge, 
and stand on tiptoe with wistful glance set upon the 
hurrying summer that so soon would consume its 
flowers and grasses and chattering rills. 

Still Gustav lingered at Athens studying archaeo- 
logy and patiently waiting for Constantine’s message 
of hope. Exploring expeditions helped him through 
the long leisure. The last proposed by Miss Winters 
was to Vari, to do homage to the mythical Cave of 
Pan, where Plato was dedicated to Apollo and the 
Muses. 

Gustav drove round from his hotel at seven o’clock 
in the morning to pick up Miss Winters and her para- 
phernalia, at her lodgings in front of the Columns of 
Jupiter. Upon the mountains, hue upon hue lay in- 
termelted in one transfused whole of indescribable 
loveliness. The great forked flanks of Hymettus 
looked so desolate against the joy of the sky, as to 
suggest that here had Prometheus been chained and 
had stamped it with the legacy of permanent sadness. 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 3 6 1 

Under the hills stretched on either side wide fields 
sheeted with blood-red poppies ; the birds woke the 
air with song, and the air was full of the lovely scent 
of the pine. Gustavs senses thrilled to the exquisite 
charm of the hour, and Miss Winters’ gaze was a 
prayer and a thanksgiving. 

When they had devoutly visited the shrine, diffi- 
cult of access, and had come back into the pine 
region, flushed and tired and heated by the blaze of 
sunfire, they were accommodated by a courteous 
villager with an empty room, into which a table 
newly-washed and two chairs were introduced as 
additional helps to lunch. The villager supplied them 
with boiled eggs, water and bread, which was being 
baked at the general oven in the middle of the place, 
and Gustav produced a bottle of Santorin wine, some 
fruit and cold chicken. For a forlorn lover he ate a 
very hearty meal, and took an animated pleasure in 
supplving the absence of attendance. 

After lunch they went and sat on a little wooden 
seat, and while Gustav smoked, Miss Winters, to the 
complete astonishment of these simple folk, fed all 
the dogs of the place upon bread and chicken just as 
if they had been Christians. Greek dogs are never 
fed, they pick up what they can here and there, and 
shrink instinctively from man, whose only caress is 
a kick. 

“That old man is very ill,” Miss Winters said at 
length. 

“ Which old man ? ” 

“That old heathen of Tenos, of course.” 

“ Oh ! Selaka ! ” 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


362 

“Yes. I met his brother yesterday. He was at- 
tending somebody in the house, and I asked to see 
him.” 

“Truly, you are a marvellous woman, and a most 
excellent friend,” said Gustav. 

“ I reckon I can seize an opportunity, and don't 
fail for the want of pluck and keeping my eyes open. 
The brother is a doctor.” 

“ I know. Constantine. They call him the King 
of Tenos.” 

“Tenos seems to be the home of idiots. Well, the 
pagan is very ill — heart-disease — doomed. The doctor 
is on your side, and says if you will go to Tenos, 
in about ten days he will be there to meet you, and 
thinks it not improbable that the old lunatic may be 
talked into reason before he goes to — Hades or else- 
where.” 

Reineke reddened slightly and breathed hard, but 
he said nothing. The mere hope meant too much 
for speech. To touch again land so sacred as her 
island home, to look upon the fastnesses which en- 
shielded her from the world — to see her, feel her, hear 
her, divine her nearness by every acute sense quick- 
ened to an ache. Perhaps 

Thought could go no farther. He rose and flung 
away his cigarette with a passionate gesture, and be- 
gan to pace the dusty path while the driver got the 
horses ready for their return. He seemed to see 
Inarime’s face, not the landscape, and his heart 
throbbed with the wonder of it He was silent dur- 
ing the drive home, and sat till far into the night on 
his balcony, watching the stars come out in the soft 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 363 

blue gloom and wink and play like illuminated shuttles 
upon their glossy background. 

Ten days later he came to say good-bye to his 
friend. The charming old lady stood in front of him, 
and peered into his face with kindly question. A soft 
smile stirred the grave depths of his dark intense eyes 
as he gave her back her look, and tenderly lifted 
her hand to his lips. 

“ No matter what happens, our friendship must be 
lifelong," he said. 

“ Yes, I mean to fall frantically in love with your 
wife. You will bring her right along to Washington 
City to see me, and I’ll have my book on Greece 
ready, to present you with a copy on your marriage." 
She raised herself on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. 

“Now go straight away to Tenos, and I guess 
you’ll carry the day," she added. 

It was not Aristides who met him this time upon 
the little quay of St. Nicholas, but insular majesty itself. 

“The King of Tenos," said Gustav, smiling as he 
shook hands with Constantine. 

“The slave of Tenos — the devil take the lot," cried 
Dr. Selaka, angrily. “I haven’t a moment to myself 
once I land on this wretched island. Because they 
make me deputy, I must look after all their ailments 
gratis; I must stand godfather for all their children, 
which means presents illimitable and care for the rest of 
my days ; I must lend my house for marriages, and give 
marriage breakfasts to all the daughters — dowries some- 
times, and last, but not least, I must submit to be 
carried about the island, up those massacring mountain 
paths and down destructive precipices, while the idiots 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


364 

fire off pistols and guns in the exuberance of their 
spirits, until I am smothered with smoke and half-dead 
with fright.'’ 

“I see there are drawbacks to the glory of a seat in 
the Boule." 

“ I rather think so. Oh ! the monsters ! I am com- 
pelled to sneak down all the back lanes to escape them. 
Come this way. Our mules are hidden under yonder 
filthy archway.” 

How familiar the ride seemed to Gustav, although 
he had only twice ridden through this strange scenery. 
He recognised every field and hedge, each cleft in the 
mountains, the cave of Aiolos, and the little forsaken 
fountain with the figures of St. Michael, St. George 
and the Virgin Mary roughly carven upon a marble slab 
by some unknown hand in the seventeenth century. 
A thin vein of water flowed from the torrent above into 
the fountain with a tinkling sound that broke the silence 
very sadly. How desolate in the stillness looked the 
interminable lines of marble hills stained with burnt 
thyme and furze, the great jagged rocks tinted with gold 
and red and purple and grey, forked against the sap- 
phire sky, and the dim grey glades of olives below ! 
Desertion lay upon all, and the beauty was the beauty 
of neglect and barrenness. And above towered the 
Castro, slanting down from the upper world, greyer, 
sterner than ever, with the rocky desert of Bolax 
behind, and the villages afar, so white and tiny, tangled 
upon the slopes, curve flowing after curve to the horizon, 
the cornfields and meadows touching the scene to life, 
and the sea breaking into the wide green plain of 
Kolymvithra like a lake. Here and there a forgotten 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


3<55 

faded lemon showed through the orchards, and the 
geraniums were as drops of blood upon the leaves. 
How dear and homelike, how personal it all appeared 
to him ! Inarime it spoke of. No sound came to him 
but the clamour of the frogs among the moist reeds of 
the torrent-beds, or the liquid flow of bird music from 
the trees, broken by occasional farm cries and the bark 
of watch dogs. 

Pericles Selaka knew that his days were numbered. 
He was filled with the trouble and indecision of his 
daughter’s future. But the thought of relenting towards 
Gustav — Daoud Bey, as he now bitterly called him — did 
not enter his mind. His anger against Gustav was the 
more unreasonable and fierce because of his affection 
and admiration for the man. What right had a scholar 
and a gentleman to prove nothing better than a misera- 
ble Turk? Inarime grieved for the fellow. Of course. 
And did he not grieve for her grief? Were there not 
moments of yearning to throw off this intolerable cloak 
of resolution, and send for Gustav to make his daughter 
happy ? Had she not a right to happiness ? She was 
young and beautiful. The thought of such beauty as 
hers dropping unwedded into the grave exasperated 
him. But a renegade Turk ! 

The day of Gustav’s arrival, Selaka was alone in the 
sitting-room. Inarime had gone to the fountain for 
Annunziata, who was busy preparing the midday 
breakfast. By an unaccountable impulse, Selaka’s 
thoughts flew back to his short married life, and, stand- 
ing upon the threshold of memory, struck him with the 
force of reality. Tears shook upon his eyelids, and sud- 
denly he raised his head with a listening air. A delicate 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


366 

breeze seemed to sweep past him, and played about 
his forehead and hair like caressing fingers. Then it 
came back again and approached him like a soft regret- 
ful sigh. He rose, impelled by an influence which he 
felt it apleasure to obey, and followed the sighing 
breeze. The blinds were drawn to keep out the glare 
of the noonday sun, and a ray from a chink broke into 
the twilight in a dazzling river of gold. The air just lifted 
the blind, and breathed again about his face, this time 
lingering like a kiss upon his lips ; a rose-leaf kiss, that 
very tender lips might give. He staggered against the 
framework of the window, filled with a superstitious 
dread. Was this breath the soul of his dead wife that 
floated about him with speechless message ? Might it 
not be that she was filled with concern for the coming 
solitude of her forsaken child ? Strive as he might against 
the insane idea, it grew upon him, and took possession 
of his frighted senses. A damp perspiration broke upon 
his brow, the pallor of terror was on his cheek, and his 
heart beat against his side with suffocating blows. 

Hardly knowing why, he held back the blind, and 
looked down into the courtyard to see if any wind 
stirred among the flowers. All was still. Not a leaf 
trembled ; the flowers drooped in the drowsy heat of 
a sultry summer day. He opened the window, and 
put out his hand. The air was hot and motionless, and 
the watch-dog lay panting in the shade of a palmtree. 
He closed the window, drew down the blind, and 
looked through the soft gloom of the apartment. This 
time he shivered as the whispering breath struck him 
full in the face, like a wing brushing past. He stretched 
out his hands with a cry of protest and alarm, and fell 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN, 


367 

upon the floor in a swoon, with the name of his dead 
wife upon his lips. 

When Selaka opened his eyes, he found himself lying 
on the sofa, and saw the face of Gustav Reineke bent 
over his anxiously. He stared in awed amazement, 
shrank back a little, put up one hand and timidly 
touched the young man as if to test his reality. 

“ You are better, sir? ” asked Reineke, taking the 
hand, and he held it in a warm, protective clasp. 

“ You ! Daoud Bey/’ muttered Selaka, indistinctly. 

“ Look on me as Gustav Reineke, I beg you, sir, 
and my presence will hurt you less. The past is no 
more for me ; have I not promised ? ” said Gustav, 
gently. 

“ I am conquered, Gustav. I give her to you/' 

Gustav gasped, and instinctively dropped on his 
knees beside the sofa. He hid his face on the pillow, 
and burst into uncontrollable tears. The sick man lay 
still, and watched him in a state of stupid fatigue and 
torpor. Somebody entered the room, and crossing, 
touched Gustav’s shoulder. He sprang to his feet, and 
met the serene brown glance of Annunziata’s eyes. 

“You are welcome, sir, you are very welcome,” 
she said, and held out both hands, nodding with sub- 
dued approval. 

Gustav took them, and shook them with a force that 
almost hurt. Yet he wore the look of a man in a trance. 

“ You are a good, kind woman. Tell me where 
she is.” 

“ She is detained in the village. Go into the garden, 
and I will send her uncle to fetch her.” 

Gustav obeyed her, and passed out into the garden. 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


368 

How changed everything was since his winter visit, 
eighteen months before. But he hardly noted whither 
he went as he precipitated himself down the oleander 
alley. The air quivered with light. The smell of the 
pines and thyme floated up from the valley upon the 
summer wind that just stirred the laurel leaves and 
plumes of the reeds in the torrent below. All abroad 
sleepy delight, and within an immeasurable joy that 
touched on anguish ! He stood on the gravel path edged 
with blue and white irises, and looked down upon the 
little goat road behind the zigzag of spiked cactuses. The 
shadow of the kids, as they played, wavered upon the 
silver light that sparkled and shook in liquid masses 
from the upper rocks. 

Would she come by that path? The eternal sun- 
shine and the aching mist of blue dazzled him as did 
his own overpowering happiness. The rapture of the 
birds was a fit interpretation of his own rapture, and 
the lizards, darting in and out of the rocks like shuttles 
quick with life, were as his beating pulses. He loved 
everything, the water and flowers, the quaint and tiny 
Insects that flew around him, and the pigeons that 
flashed through the air with an impetuosity he longed 
to rival. 

A step behind him drained the blood from his heart, 
and he turned, sick and frightened with the strength of 
passion. 

Inarime was looking at him with equal fear and awe. 
Slowly and silently their glances drew one another 
until their hands met, but speech was beyond them. 
They did not speak at once nor embrace, but remained 
tnus standing and gazing , and then a flame sprang into 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


369 

Gustav's intense look, and spread like fire over his 
face. 

“ Inarime ! " he murmured, and opened his arms. 

She was in them enfolded, and their lips were one. 

“ Oh, Gustav, you have come to me," cried Inarime. 

“ At last ! At long last ! Did it seem long to you, 
dearest ? " 

“ Long ! I tried so hard to do without you, but it 
grew harder each day. But you are with me now, 
dear one.” 

“ Not again to leave you, Inarime. My own, how 
best shall I serve you ? How shall I treat you ? It is 
as if a mortal were mated with a goddess." 

“ You, too, O love, are to me as a god," whispered 
Inarime. 

“ Nay, nay, beloved, you must not so exalt your wor- 
shipper," protested Gustav, laughing, while he drew 
her to a stone and gently forced her to sit down, that 
he might kneel before her, and hold her clasped. 

He looked up at her in mute adoration, and smiled. 
She framed his dusky, glowing face with her hands, and 
her own, bent over it, looked glorious in its joy. 

“ Dearest," he cried, “ bliss cannot madden or kill, 
or I should not now be kneeling here, alive and sane." 

“ Oh, Gustav, life is so short. No wonder lovers 
must have their hereafter. We may not reach an end. " 

“ Nay, sweet, our life shall not be short ; while others 
merely exist, we shall live our days to the very full. 
Think of it — a future with each other. Here, hereafter ! 
It cannot be for us other than Paradise." 

“ I love you, Gustav." 

“Goddess, I adore you." 

24 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


370 

She pressed her cheek against his, and he felt her 
happy tears. 

“My father will need me — us,” she said. “Come.” 

They found Selaka waiting eagerly for them. In- 
arime had not seen him since his seizure, and ran to 
him with a cry of pain, shocked to see him look so ill. 

“ My son,” said Selaka, with laboured breath, “ I 
would ask you much, since I have given you so 
much.” 

“There is nothing, sir, you can ask that I will not 
gladly grant,” said Gustav, taking his hand. 

“I would charge you with my dying breath not to 
resume your hateful name. It would sting me in the 
grave if my daughter bore it.” 

“It shall be as you wish, sir. Inarime will be the 
wife of Gustav Reineke, and Daoud Bey is no more.” 

The old man winced under the name, but feebly 
pressed Gustav’s hand. Shaken with terror and regret 
for her own great bliss, Inarime knelt beside the sofa, 
and looked beseechingly at her father. 

“I have one other request to make to you, my chil- 
dren. You have been kept apart long enough. I do 
not desire that my death should impose a longer sepa- 
ration upon you. If you must mourn me — though I do 
not desire that either — let it be together. Let not the 
grave overshadow your wedding joys. Think of me, not 
as dead but as a disembodied spirit that will hover around 
and about you in tender concern, sharing your griefs, 
which it is my prayer may be few, and your delights, 
which I hope will be many. Weep not for me, Inarime. 
Death is but a quiet sleep, the grave but rest. You will 
have your husband. He will be all to you — more even 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


371 

than I. Promise me, my beloved child, that you will 
not grieve, and that there will be no delay in your mar- 
riage.” 

Inarime crept closer to her father, and twined her arms 
round his neck. 

“There, there, my girl. Gustav, you will be very 
tender to her.” 

“ Oh, sir, my life henceforth will be devotion to 
her. ” 

“Thank you, thank you. I feel it will be so. Take 
her now ; comfort her, and dry her tears. That is well. 
The arms that hold her now are stronger than mine, 
the breast that pillows her head will henceforth be its 
best protection. And should a son be born to you, my 
children, call him Pericles after me, and bring him up 
to love greatly the great past of my country. Come 
nearer, my sight grows dim. Call Annunziata, and 
my brother. I would bid them farewell. You, In- 
arime, stay close to me. It is with your dear hand in 
mine that I would go hence into the unknown.” 

Constantine and Annunziata were waiting outside. 
But when they followed Gustav into the dying man’s 
presence, Selaka had fallen into a doze. No word was 
spoken. Annunziata wept silently : Constantine’s sobs 
were the only sound ; Inarime knelt watching her 
father’s face, and Gustav stood over her with his arm 
about her neck. Selaka’s eyes opened, and flashed 
with a ray of youth. He uttered his wife’s name in a 
loud, clear voice, and then the light of life was extin- 
guished. 

Gustav bent and kissed Inarime. 


372 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Time, summer afternoon, touching sunset, early in 
the month of June. — Scene, the beach of Phalerum. 

The band is playing a lively selection from Lecocq, 
whose works are delighting the Athenians, interpreted 
by a third-rate French company three times a week 
at the Olympian Theatre of Athens, and three times 
nightly at the theatre of the Piraeus. All the seats out- 
side the Grand Hotel are filled, as are those edging the 
golden strand where the children are digging and mak- 
ing sand-pies — quantities of babies, dressed in French 
taste, in English taste, and overdressed whatever the 
taste, and quarrelling and making-up in a variety of 
tongues. 

Every table shows a display of coffee cups, of liqueur 
glasses and of empty ice plates. The Athenian gilded 
youth walk up and down, twirling slim canes; with 
shorn heads, wide-brimmed hats, white trousers, and 
moustaches turned up with emphasis. Droll youths 
with a serious belief in their own fascinations, made 
up, some of them imprisoned in corsets. Such boots 
and trousers, such coats and moustaches ! Ah! misfor- 
tune to the susceptible maidens of Athens ! Their hour 
is surely come with these lions abroad. 

And the young ladies ! Such chatter and beaming 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


373 

smiles, such hats, high heels, ribbons, laces, veils, 
powder and perfume! Such miracles of millinery pro- 
duced without any regard to cost ! Ah, there are two 
sides to the picture, my friends, and is it quite so certain 
that the lions facing these nymphs will have the best 
of the encounter ? There are enough uniforms here 
to convince the sceptical traveller that he is in a 
land of heroes. Infantry officers of every rank, in 
light blue. Numbers of artillerymen in black with crim- 
son velveteen collar and cuffs. Yes, there yonder is 
the glorious Miltiades, linked with that Phoebus Apollo, 
Hadji Adam. How the heart gladdens at the sight, 
how the nerves shake at the clanking of that terrible 
sabre of his, at the rattle of his glittering spurs, and 
with what cordial delight do we recognise his military 
salute and meet the condescension of his hand-clasp ! 
One singles out the pair instinctively, amid the multi- 
plicity of uniforms, above the rank and file of mere 
marine officers and saucy midshipmen. For, be it 
known to benighted foreigners, all male Athens dons 
a uniform, military or naval. Either politics or the 
uniform nothing else counts. Epaulettes or the Boule- 
or le neant . 

And the band is playing — is playing with a desperate 
fervour, befitting noisy, volatile Athens. The waiters 
are rushing wildly about with trays of cognac and ver- 
mouth, of ices and coffee, the fragrance of Greek tobac- 
co fills the air, the chatter of human voices and the shrill 
cry of excited children mingle with the soft murmur of 
the sea, that beats so gently upon the sand. A charm- 
ing hour, a charming scene. The sky as blue as 
the lucid waters beneath ; shifting hues wavering upon 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


374 

the sharp mountain sides; the early lights flickering 
against the trees, and the sound of happy laughter and 
speech heard above the band ! 

The blessed, foolish, frivolous people, self-intoxi- 
cated, needing nothing but its daily gossip, its leaf- 
lets called newspapers, coffee and cigarettes, the excite- 
ment of the half-hourly trains to Phalerum of a sum- 
mer evening, the rascalities of its politicians to de- 
nounce, along with the nameless Turk and the faith- 
less Mr. Gladstone, to the strains of its bad, vivacious 
music ! 

With regret do I ask the reader to stand with me 
under the shade of the Grand Hotel, and cast a fare- 
well glance upon the scene. By the last train from 
town old acquaintances arrive — a young pair on their 
wedding tour. Three years ago we last saw one of 
them facing the hero of Greece at an uncomfortable 
hour of the morning upon uncomfortable business. 
Now he is the husband — of whom ? Of whom but 
that elegant young lady of the great world, Mademoi- 
selle Emeraude Veritassi. They were married at 
Rome, where the Baron von Hohenfels is Austrian 
plenipotentiary, with Rudolph for one of his attaches. 
The bride and bridegroom have taken Athens on their 
way to St. Petersburg, to which Embassy Rudolph now 
belongs. Ehrenstein looks what he is — an aristocrat 
in faultless attire, who has lived hard and enjoys the rep- 
utation of a strong attachment to brandy and music. 
Pale, thin, stern and fastidious, with an air of quiescent 
wretchedness. Poor Rudolph ! Is this all that his mu- 
table affections have brought him — indifference and 
hopelessness ? Photini had died, and he had mourned 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


375 


her passionately, not her, perhaps, but his blighted 
youth. And when he found Mademoiselle Veritassi dis- 
posed to overlook his shady past for the sake of his ex- 
pectations, his wealth, and his fair, handsome face, it 
did not seem to him he could do very much better than 
marry her. 

They walked the beach once, and then returned, and 
seated themselves a little above the Grand Hotel, 
Ehrenstein gloomily facing the sea while he waited for 
his cognac ; and his bride, in Worths latest splendours, 
looking landwards, expecting an ice. 

“See, Rudolph, here is my old flame, M. Michael- 
opoulos, the great poet,” cried Emeraude, pleasantly 
excited. 

“ Indeed,” said Rudolph, stroking his moustache and 
indolently shifting his eyes. 

“Good heavens ! Mademoiselle Veritassi ! I forgot, 
a thousand excuses, Madame Ehrenstein,” exclaimed 
the popular poet. 

“ My dear friend ! Sit down and tell us all the news. 
Rudolph, order some cognac for M. Michaelopoulos. 
And now, do tell me everything. What was said about 
my marriage ? ” 

“Athens rejoiced that Austria in you, Madame, should 
so wisely have chosen,” said the poet, with a magnif- 
icent bow. 

“No, truly? You mock me, sir. Does Austria, I 
wonder, think that Greece chose as wisely ? asked the 
vivacious bride with an arch, half-malicious glance at 
her morose husband. 

“Could Austria think otherwise ? ” the poet replied. 

“If such a humble person as myself may answer for 


DA UGHTEKS OF MEN. 


3 76 

Austria, I may say that no better choice could have been 
made, ” said Rudolph, sarcastically. 

“My friend, I mean to prove the wisdom of my 
choice.” 

Rudolph raised his eyebrows in lazy interrogation. 

“At the present you are simply an attache , ” explained 
his wife. “With my good help you will become an 
ambassador. That was why I married you. I always 
thought the position of ambassadress would suit me 
admirably.” 

“So! You flatter me, Madame.” 

“Why not? You surely did not think I was in love 
with you.” 

“ Well, I own I had some faint hope you returned my 
adoration.” 

Emeraude glanced quickly at her husband, and 
smiled, a strange, hard little smile. Lying back with 
half-shut eyes, she said to the poet : 

“It is evident that my husband is on his wedding 
tour, judging by the pretty things he says.” 

“ I shall doubtless reach perfection in that art under 
your amiable tuition,” retorted the bridegroom, as he 
turned to inspect the crowd. 

“ They certainly don't give the unblest any reason to 
envy their happiness,” mused the poet. “Who would 
have thought that such a gentle, girlish boy would turn 
into a bitter and cynical rake ? ” 

Some friends of Emeraude bore down upon her, and 
after a torrent of congratulation, haughtily received by 
Rudolph, the latter rose and took the poet’s arm. They 
walked past the hotel, and a dark flush spread like a 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


377 

flame over Rudolph's face when he recognised the gal- 
lant Captain of the Artillery. 

“The sister is here, too,” said the poet, not troubled 
with any hesitation or sensitiveness to the delicacy of 
the subject. 

“Indeed,” said Rudolph, very softly. 

He did not resent the liberty ; he felt an aching desire 
to hear something of her — hear that she was well and 
happy. 

“She is married,” he said. 

“Yes, and grown so stout. There’s a baby with them. 
There they are.” 

Rudolph started, and the hand on the poet’s arm 
trembled violently. 

Agiropoulos and Andromache were coming towards 
him. Agiropoulos was on the side of the sea, fat, con- 
tented, floridly attired, with a flower in his buttonhole 
and a gold-rimmed glass in his eye. The departing 
sunshine shone from the west full upon Andromache’s 
face. It had lost all the pretty appeal of youth. A 
handsome enough profile, dull, well-filled, with dark blue 
eyes looking out of a forest of curled fringe, upon which 
a much too fashionable bonnet reposed. Rudolph was 
startled and disappointed to find his old love the mere 
expression of commonplace, domestic content. Yes, 
she looked as if she did not greatly mourn him, and 
remembering his wife’s elegance and social charm, he 
recognised he had done better than marry Andromache. 
But good heavens ! how pretty and sweet she had been 
in those old days when his heart was so fresh and his 
days so innocent ! He saw again the little salon over- 
looking the Gardens of the French School, with all its 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


373 

trivial details accurately fixed upon his memory, and 
two foolish young creatures so desperately afraid of 
each other, when first confronted with a love scene. 
What a charming idyll ! and how evanescent and un- 
seizable its fragrance floated out of the past ! 

Andromache was the first to see him. She did not 
start, but turned pale to the lips, and looked at him 
steadily while her fingers closed convulsively upon her 
red parasol. Agiropoulos brought his quick, sharp gaze 
to bear upon Ehrenstein, who at once lifted his hat. 
But his salute was not returned by husband or wife, 
Andromache stared straight before her, and Agiropoulos 
smiled insolently as he passed. 

Rudolph gazed across the sea with twitching lips. 
The cut hurt him more than he dared allow to himself. 
He was gentleman enough to feel ashamed that he 
deserved it, but was unaccountably angry with An- 
dromache for not having learned to forgive him. 

“ Let us go back to Madame,” he said, quietly. 

“Have you had enough of Phalerum, Emeraude ? ” 
he asked, in reply to the silent question of his wife’s 
look. 

“You discontented fellow! We have only just 
come.” 

“ And how long are we to remain?” 

“ There, I see you are upset, and, as I can’t expect to 
make you an ambassador if I don’t humour you a little, 
I'll take you back to Athens at once,” said Emeraude, 
rising good-naturedly. 

Rudolph flashed her a look of boyish gratitude, and 
pressed her hand as he helped her into the train. He 
was a little boisterous and intractable on his way to town, 


DA UGHTERS OF MEN. 


379 

laughed and talked wildly and, when they got into a 
carriage at Athens to drive to the Hotel de la Grande Bre- 
tagne, a reaction came, and he sat back, the picture of 
moody discontent. Verily, Mademoiselle Veritassi has 
not chosen an easy life, but we can see that she under- 
stands her task, and that, in spite of ill-tempers and 
storms, the whip-hand will be hers. 

Turning the corner of Hermes Street, Rudolph’s un- 
happy glance fell upon another picture, and one that 
struck a heavier blow upon his bruised heart. Two 
persons on a balcony of the Hotel d’Angleterre, which 
faces Constitution Square, opposite the Palace, were en- 
joying the sunset, and the soft, departing daylight. A 
man was leaning with his back to the railing, smoking 
and looking down upon a seated woman in front of him. 
Rudolph’s pulses stood still. It was impossible not to rec- 
ognise the owner of the supple brown hand that grasped 
the edge of the railing, and upon a slight movement of 
the smoker, who seemed to be speaking with playful 
earnestness to his companion, Rudolph saw Reineke’s 
delicate, clear profile. A hungry pain sprang into Ru- 
dolph’s eyes as he sat forward, and looked back through 
the railings, while the carriage drove across the Square. 
He saw Inarime distinctly, with her eyes lifted to her 
husband, and a happy smile stirring her grave lips. And 
as he watched, Reineke went over and sat beside her. 

The carriage stopped in front of the Hotel de la 
Grande Bretagne, and Rudolph helped his wife out. In- 
stead of following her in, he hurried down the path 
to stare again at the rival hotel. Inarime now was stand- 
ing with her hand upon Gustav’s shoulder, and the spec- 
tator might divine that the husband was protesting 


DAUGHTERS OF MEN. 


380 

laughingly against some decision of hers. Then with 
her tender, grave smile she passed from him and went 
inside. Gustav remained seated on the balcony, smok- 
ing. 

“They are not contented — they are happy/’ said 
Rudolph, as he turned to join his wife. “Nobody is 
miserable but myself. Photini is dead, and I’m alive. 
I don’t know that it is I who have the best of it, either. 
She was right. She told me from the first I never should 
be happy. Andromache ! Inarime ! and poor Photini ! 
I wonder why I have missed the gladness of life. It 
seems to exist, and some people catch it. I am only 
twenty-five. Heaven help me, whatshall I be ten years 
hence, when I feel so bitter on my wedding tour ? ” 

He knocked at his wife’s door, and entering, threw 
himself on a sofa. 

“ How long do you propose staying in this wretched 
hole? ” he asked. 

“ A week or so,” said his wife, surprised. “ Why? ” 

“ I want to know what I am expected to do with 
myself.” 

“ Look after me, of course, and dance attendance on 
me,” laughed his wife. 


THE END. 













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DAUGHTERS OF MEN 


BY 

HANNAH LYNCH 

AUTHOR OF 

“TROUBLED WATERS,” ETC. 


NEW YORK 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 































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